


Some Ghosts Are Never Gone

by icandrawamoth



Series: Some Ghosts are Never Gone 'verse [2]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: X-Wing Series - Aaron Allston & Michael Stackpole
Genre: (I have certain issues with that show but I do like this title), Anxiety, Anxiety Disorder, Big Bang Challenge, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Panic Attacks, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, title from Next to Normal, wipbigbang
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-28
Updated: 2018-08-28
Packaged: 2019-07-03 20:33:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 32,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15826422
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/icandrawamoth/pseuds/icandrawamoth
Summary: "You've got this thing inside you that makes everything so hard, but you fight it. You lost your entire planet, but you kept fighting. Isard tried to break you, and you kept fighting. Then the eyes of the entire galaxy were on you, and you never crumbled. Tycho. I'm not exaggerating when I say you're the strongest person I know.”Between his preexisting anxiety and the aftereffects of his time in Lusankya, Tycho tries to move on, but it isn't always easy.





	1. Cell

**Author's Note:**

> Written for wipbigbang. A million thanks to everyone in the Tumblr X-wing fandom who helped and supported, especially [aphorisnt](http://aphorisnt.tumblr.com/), who's always there to listen to me rant or rave or read yet another random excerpt. <3 Don't miss the fantastic art by [drinkupthesunrise](http://drinkupthesunrise.tumblr.com/) [here](http://www.amandaelanorart.co.uk/images/bigbang01.jpg) and [here](http://www.amandaelanorart.co.uk/images/bigbangfic02.jpg)!!
> 
> Warnings: anxiety, PTSD, panic attacks
> 
> (Here and there are a couple of lines of dialogue taken directly from the books, so if there's something you recognize, it's probably not mine.)

When the stolen ship exits hyperspace and the green and blue orb of Chandrila comes into view, it's like Tycho can breathe for the first time in...however long it's been since he was captured trying to leave Coruscant. Everything is fuzzy, and he's sure it's felt like longer than it really has been.

But it's over. He's escaped.

“Chandrila Air Control,” he says, keying the comm and just managing to keep his voice steady even as it threatens to break with relief, “this is Imperial freighter _Intervention_ flown by Captain Tycho Celchu of New Republic Starfighter Command. Transmitting identification code now.”

Even as he punches the numbers into the comm system, he knows they're only going to help him so much. It's been months. Everyone probably thinks he's dead. If they assume he was captured, they'll have put an alert on his codes to guard against his having given them to an interrogator. That said, he has no other way to prove who he is from here.

The comm system beeps to announce successful transmission, and there's a long silence from the other end of the connection.

Finally, he hears back, “Stand by, _Intervention._ ”

“As ordered.” Tycho hears nerves in the other man's voice, is careful to keep his ship in the same straight-line orbit, no sudden moves. It wouldn't do to spook someone and get himself shot down before he can explain anything.

After another minute or two, the comm system comes to life again. “Captain Celchu, you should be receiving coordinates for a landing pad. A fighter escort will be joining you shortly. Proceed directly to the destination and do not deviate, or you will be shot down without hesitation. Do you understand?”

“I copy.” Tycho watches the pair of X-wings approaching on his sensors and guides the freighter into an easy turn toward the planet. He wonders if they're flown by anyone he knows.

Certainly there will be an armed escort waiting for him on the ground as well. Even once they've proven for themselves who he is, any freedom he might have had will vanish once he tells them he's escaped from the infamous Lusankya and they jump to the conclusion that he's been programmed as one of Isard's agents.

Tycho takes a deep breath as the X-wings move into formation on either side, boxing him in. He's just going to have to prove them wrong.

 

They put him in a room with three white walls and one mirrored; he knows the mirror is two-way, that they're watching him. The only things in the room are a cot and a desk. No computer terminal, no way of contacting the outside world or getting information. No one will call it what it is: a cell.

For every question they ask him, he has one in return: what's going on in the galaxy? Where's Wedge? Where are his friends? He's been out of contact for six months, and anything could have happened.

None of the stoic, inquiring faces answer him, of course. They won't tell him anything until they've confirmed he isn't the security risk they all assume him to be.

He knows the Intelligence agents aren't happy with his answers either. As soon as he's had a medical scan to confirm he isn't carrying a bomb or a poison gas tooth capsule or anything of the like inside of him, Tycho spends his days across a desk from various agents going over every moment of his imprisonment in excruciating detail.

Though his memories are vague, he can tell them enough that they seem to believe he actually was in Lusankya, the only person to ever remember anything of their time there. It's all so dark and distorted by fear and pain, but he tells them everything he can. The simulations Isard had him fly. The torture. His time in the general prison population. How convinced he was every day that he was going to die, and the leader named Jan who insisted he wouldn't.

There's not much there that's helpful in any way, and Tycho hopes the agents know it frustrates him as much as it does them. He was never outside the prison walls, and he was unconscious when he was transported to and from the place, so he can't give them any indication of where it might be located. He doesn't remember the names or faces of any other prisons apart from Jan. And all Tycho can say about him for certain that he's convinced Jan is part of the reason he survived.

At least Akrit'tar he remembers clearly, even if his experiences there weren't any less unpleasant. He can gladly tell the Intelligence agents everything he knows about the Imperial prison's security, guard rotations, airspace. He explains how he spent three months studying these things in order to make his escape and recounts the entire process in painstaking detail.

The days of questioning are long and hard. The constant cloud of suspicion Tycho lives under, the fact that he's a prisoner again in all but name, this time under his own people, ache, but it's all still better than what he faced under the Imperials. Justice will be done, he believes. Someday soon, he'll be free.

And they _are_ taking care of him at least. They're feeding him, good, rich food like he hasn't had in months, slowly easing his malnourished body back to health. And they've given him a counselor, a Dr. Aschansa, to work with who's doing her best to talk him through the PTSD, the flashbacks and nightmares. She's a kind woman who seems to genuinely want to help him, though Tycho has no doubt given his standing that there is no doctor-patient confidentiality here. She'll be reporting every word he says back to the higher-ups, whether she approves of that order or not.

Tycho tells himself he doesn't care. He has nothing to hide. And the things Dr. Aschansa tells him do help, at least a little. Tycho has been dealing with his anxiety on and off for most of his life, and though he hasn't had a panic attack since coming back from Akrit'tar, the breathing and mindfulness exercises she's added to his arsenal do help when he starts to feel himself slipping in that direction.

The nightmares are awful. Tycho will wake in the middle of the night under the rough blankets in his cell, everything pitch dark except for the tiny glow panel near the refresher entrance, covered in sour sweat with his heart racing and the metallic taste of fear on his tongue. But he has no idea what he's seen in his fitful sleep. The dreams are like a rehash of what he remembers from Lusankya, or rather doesn't: all the vague pain and terror and isolation replayed over and over with no context.

When it happens, he squeezes his eyes closed, tries to talk himself down, breathing slow and deep like he's been taught. He pretends Wedge is there in bed beside him, holding him and murmuring the relaxation mantras in his ear.

Tycho misses him _so much._ He hasn't seen a familiar, friendly face since he returned, and it's getting harder to stay calm and collected when he doesn't know when he'll be able to see the man he loves again. Or if he will at all. There's a little spark of fear that maybe something happened to Wedge while he was away, that Wedge is gone now...and it gets harder and harder to beat back. The thought of coming back to him was another thing that kept Tycho going, and he doesn't even want to consider continuing to go through all of his and whatever may become of his life after without him.

Then one day those fears all vanish. Tycho's morning questioning session ends early, and they send him back to his cell without telling him why. Before Tycho can wonder much about it, there's a soft sound from the end of the room and he turns to see the mirrored wall slowly shifting transparent – and then there he is.

Standing on the other side of the clear barrier is Wedge. He's in a rumpled New Republic military uniform, one of a slightly different style than what was being worn when Tycho left for Coruscant, his hair mussed like he's been running his hands through it the way he always does when he's frustrated or nervous. And his face... His brown eyes are wide, his mouth slightly open in an expression of such wonder and joy and sheer _relief_ that it takes makes Tycho's knees weak.

Wedge breathes his name, and there must be some kind of visitors' pick-up that's been turned on, because Tycho can hear it in the room, and before he knows it it's like he's being drawn forward without even thinking to move.

“ _Wedge_ ,” he says in return, hands pressed flat again the glass between them. “You're here.”

“I just found out,” Wedge says shakily. “ _Force_ , Tycho.”

His hands match Tycho's, so close but not quite touching, and Tycho wants more than anything in the galaxy to take Wedge into his arms, to lose himself in Wedge's embrace.

“I worried-” he finds himself saying, but cuts the words off, because there's no point. Wedge is here. He isn't alone anymore.

“I love you so much,” is the next thing Wedge says, like he's been aching to say it all this time and finally can. His eyes fall closed for a moment as his forehead drops against the transparisteel. “Everyone kept saying you must be dead.”

“I'm here,” Tycho whispers. “I'm here, Wedge. I'm okay.” He isn't exactly, he knows that, but for Wedge, in this moment, he can be.

Wedge nods jerkily, opening his eyes again and looking Tycho up and down, face covered in concern now. “Are you?”

Tycho manages a little smile. He knows he looks better than he did when he arrived a few weeks ago; he's almost back to his normal weight, and his injuries from his time at Akrit'tar have all healed. “Intelligence has been taking good care of me.”

Wedge's eyes narrow, but he doesn't ask again.

“How long are they going to let you stay?” Tycho has no idea what kind of visiting hours someone in his position might be allowed, but he already knows how painful it's going to be to have to watch Wedge leave.

“Ackbar told me you were back and put in a word to get me in here,” Wedge tells him. “I don't think anyone's going to bother us for awhile.”

Tycho feels relief at that. There's so much he wants to say, so much he wants to hear from Wedge. He hardly knows where to start.

“Tycho,” Wedge says, and Tycho can hear the way he relishes saying his name. He leans in again, eyes intense. “No matter what happened to you at Lusankya, no matter what anyone says, I know you aren't one of Isard's agents. You never could be.”

Tycho feels something in his chest crumple with a weight of emotion, tears pricking his eyes for the first time since he escaped. Of course Wedge believes him, of _course_ Wedge trusts him. If anyone would... “Thank you,” Tycho whispers. “That means so much.”

“And I'm going to get you out of here,” Wedge goes on fiercely. “They can't just keep you locked up. You didn't do anything wrong.”

“They have to make sure,” Tycho says. “I know I didn't give Isard anything and that she didn't get her claws into me, but the New Republic doesn't. These agents weren't there. They have to make sure,” he repeats. “No one else has ever shown signs before they carried out their programming, so...there's a chance, isn't there?”

Wedge's face twists, ends on a frown. “Absolutely not. I trust you to know yourself better than anyone, Tycho. You don't belong in here, and we both know it.” His frown deepens. “And you don't even seem angry about it.”

Tycho thinks back to before Lusankya, how many times he'd used his fists to solve problems when patience bled to frustration and it seemed the only way. He shakes his head, recenters himself in the present. “It wouldn't help. You can only get angry and have it result in getting tortured or beaten bloody so many times before you realize that.” He has to look away from the shocked and pained look on Wedge's face those words cause. “I'm sorry.”

Wedge shakes his head slowly. “Don't be. You don't ever have to be sorry for any part of this. I just...” His hands flex into fists. “Knowing that Isard and her cronies and those prison guards hurt you...I'd strangle them all myself if I could.”

“It's the thought that counts,” Tycho jokes flatly. “At least it's over now.”

“Yes, it's over now.” The echo is reassuring.

“So tell me what I missed while I was away?” Tycho asks hopefully. “I'm sure there's a ton you can't because of security and everything, but whatever you can? What have you been doing? And Luke and Wes and Hobbie?”

“All fine,” Wedge says, and Tycho feels relief sweep his gut again. “As for me, I just got back from that silly victory tour around the same time you did. Wes and Hobbie have been pulled into training squadrons – though I think they like it far more than they're letting on. And Luke...”

They talk for hours. Wedge fills him in on as many details as he can. None of the big military maneuvers or state secrets, but as many little details of daily life as he can think of. How much he hated that tour to begin with and more when he heard what had happened to Tycho. How much he missed him and the things he promised himself he would do when he got Tycho back. How he couldn't allow himself to consider that he wouldn't.

In turn, Tycho gives him a brief sketch of what he's been through. He leaves out a lot of the details both for Wedge's sake and because he has no desire to relive them for a third time after his initial debriefings. He tells him about Jan and how alone he felt and how much the idea of coming back to the man he loved drove him on.

“I wish I could hold you,” Wedge says, not for the first time, sitting against the wall now, one side pressed against the transparisteel barrier.

“Me too,” Tycho answers. The distance between them is a physical ache in his chest. “But you will. You did promise to get me out of here, after all.”

“I will.” Wedge's eyes spit fire. “If I have to break in myself to do it.”

“Probably not that best thing to say under Intelligence surveillance,” Tycho says lightly.

Wedge only shrugs. “They'll just have to listen to reason then.”

“If they don't listen to you, they're fools.”

Shortly after that, Wedge's comlink signals and he apologizes as he looks down at the display, his eyes widening. “It's Ackbar. I should go – it might be about you.”

Tycho barely dares let hope of relief rise in his chest. “Go. I'll be all right.”

“I'll come back as soon as I can. Tomorrow.”

“I'll look forward to it.” Tycho just gazes at him for a long moment, memorizing his features, committing him to memory to keep with him for even that short amount of time.

“Okay.” Even so, Wedge hesitates, his hand on the transparisteel again.

Tycho touches it. “I've lasted this long alone,” he reminds him gently. “That wasn't your fault, and it's okay. Go. I guess I need you to help fight my battles this time, love.”

Wedge's eyes harden again as he nods. He tells Tycho he loves him one more time before turning and clearly forcing himself to leave.

Watching him go hurts just as much as Tycho had anticipated.


	2. Respite

One day, it's just over. An Intelligence officer enters Tycho's cell and instructs him to gather his things, that he's being released. Tycho's heart swells with joy even as he scoffs at the order: all he has are the clothes on his back and a datapad Wedge and Ackbar had finally convinced them to let him have, non-networked and preloaded with a handful of holonovels. At least those, chosen by Wedge, had kept his interest and helped pass the time when he wasn't being interrogated or sleeping or visiting with the man himself.

Wedge had been true to his word, visiting as often as he was allowed, nearly every day in the intervening weeks between his first appearance and today. And he's here now, waiting in the room the officer leads Tycho to, catching Tycho's eye the moment the door opens and lurching forward to pull him into his arms.

Tycho goes, clutching Wedge to himself, pulling his precious face close for a fierce kiss. He doesn't care who's watching; he doesn't care if it's inappropriate. Wedge is here, Tycho is here, and they're finally, finally together again.

After a few moments, the officer clears his throat pointedly. They break apart, but Tycho's eyes lock on Wedge's, soft brown, a reassuring smile. They clasp hands as Tycho turns his gaze back to the officer.

"You are to report in if anything unusual occurs. Physical symptoms, memory anomalies, mood swings." He ticks the points off on his fingers. "Any of that, you contact us immediately. Got it?"

"Yes, sir. I've cooperated this long; that's not going to change just because I'm no longer under direct supervision."

The man gives him a sharp look as if trying to figure out whether he's being sarcastic. "I don't like this, Celchu," he says finally. "If it were up to me, you might never see the light of day again."

"Well, it's not up to you," Wedge cuts in in a tone Tycho recognizes: he's righteously angry and trying and failing to hold it back. "If that's all, we'll be going."

"That's all," the officer agrees grudgingly.

Wedge loops his arm through Tycho's and leads him out the door, neither of them looking at the other man again as they leave.

They step out onto a busy Chandrilan street, and Tycho's senses are immediately assaulted. The smell of fuel fumes and street food, people laughing and talking, birds singing, a light breeze, bright sunlight - after weeks alone in a white room, he finds himself overwhelmed.

"Easy," Wedge murmurs, tightening his grip when he feels Tycho falter. He guides him to a bench in the shade of a couple of trees. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I'm okay," Tycho tells him, and he means it. He's already acclimating, looking around with hungry eyes at all the signs of life he's been missing for so long. He squeezes Wedge's hand. "It's a little different than my...recent accommodations."

Wedge frowns. "You're free now. You're never going back in there."

"Thanks to you." Tycho leans in to kiss him.

Wedge brushes the words off. "Do you want to take a walk or something? Maybe get a bite to eat? Or would you rather go home and rest right away? Might be nice to have an actual bed again."

"'Home'?" Tycho repeats, because that word doesn't exactly fit the barracks he'd anticipated ending up in once he escaped his cell.

"Sure," Wedge says, turning suddenly bashful in a way that makes Tycho smile. "I've rented an apartment. Thought you might like having a place to go back to that wasn't the local military base."

"I do like the sound of that." Tycho kisses him again, longer, sweeter. In all the years they've been together, they've never had a place of their own before. Perhaps one good thing has come of this ordeal, then.

Wedge smiles too. "Okay then. I'll hail a taxi speeder."

"Actually," Tycho says, tugging Wedge's hand as he makes to move toward the street, "I would like to walk if it's not too far."

"No, not too far." Wedge points the direction, twines their fingers together, and they set off.

 

The apartment is small - kitchen/dining room, bedroom, refresher, lounge - but comfortable. Wedge shows Tycho around, and when they end out in the living area, Tycho can't help but smile as he takes it in. The furniture is all simple and plush, neutral colors accented with red. On a side table beneath a lamp is a holograph of the two of them taken back on Hoth after a particularly enthusiastic inter-squadron snowball fight - both of them covered in snow, arms wrapped around each other, grinning hugely.

"Do you like it?" Wedge asks, and Tycho finds it sweet how nervous he sounds.

"I love it."

Wedge grins. "It's ours for as long as we want it."

"Or until Starfighter Command ships us out to some offworld base?”

"We can talk about that later." Wedge shakes his head, pushes Tycho gently onto the couch and leans in to kiss his forehead. "Today is just for us, okay? For you. Whatever you need. Just sit there; let me make you something to ear.”

Tycho catches his hand before he can move away. “You don't cook.”

Wedge flushes. “I want to. You deserve something other than whatever Intelligence has been serving you.”

“I told you they took good care of me.” Tycho tugs on Wedge's hand until he sits beside him, close, the line of his body warm against Tycho's side.

“You don't always tell me the truth,” Wedge says mildly, and before Tycho can protest, he adds just as calmly, “like when you think it's going to hurt me. I know there are things you haven't told me, Tycho. About what Isard did to you or what happened on Akrit'tar.” He reaches out, suddenly tentative, hesitating before his hand lands so lightly on Tycho's leg. His face is pensive. “I know you've been hurt. Far more than you've said.”

“Wedge-” Tycho finds his throat choked, unable to get out more words.

Wedge's fingers tighten. “You don't have to say anything. I want you to tell me, someday, if you want to, but you don't have to now. Tycho...” He looks him in the eye, and even after years together it still takes Tycho's breath away to see the depth of emotion there. “I just want you to know you're safe now, okay? You're home, I'm here, I love you _so_ much, and I'm-I'm going to do everything in my power not to let anything like that ever happen to you again.”

Tycho can only nod, throat too tight to speak. Tears fill his eyes and trickle down his cheeks. He looks away from Wedge's stricken expression, lays his head on his lover's shoulder and finally just lets himself cry, tears of grief and pain and relief and love, as Wedge holds him close. And Wedge just lets him, seeming to sense what Tycho needs as he always does, just letting him get it out.

For awhile the tears seem endless, flowing down his cheeks and soaking Wedge's shirt, but of course he doesn't mind, just strokes Tycho's hair and his back, murmuring comforting nothings as he rocks him slightly. Finally, they ease, and Tycho rests against him, eyes closed, breathing in Wedge's scent. It's the greatest comfort he's known since he escaped the prison, just being near him like this. Being free, being safe.

The quiet stretches for several calm minutes until Wedge breaks it to say, "I meant what I said about cooking for you."

Tycho shakes his head. "I'm not hungry," he says softly. He inches closer, brushes his lips against Wedge's neck. "I missed you."

Wedge's arms tighten around him. "I missed you, too. More than I can say."

Tycho smiles, because he loves this man with all his heart, but sometimes he can be a bit dense. He kisses him again, whispers against his ear, "Take me to bed, Wedge."

Wedge does. He undresses him with gentle, reverent touches, like Tycho is something precious he's afraid to break. Or something he wants to worship. Tycho shakes and cries again as he's touched more tenderly than he can ever remember, pleasure he hasn't felt in so very long, and when at last he falls apart in Wedge's arms to promises of how loved he is, he knows he's really home.

 

Constant torture and beatings have gotten Tycho used to waking up sore, but he's forgotten what it's like to be pleasantly so. He wakes with a smile, a patch of sunlight shining through the window and warming him as he stretches. Beside him, Wedge's eyes blink open, and he smiles too, wide and boyish.

"Part of me thought it was a dream," he confesses as he ducks in for a good morning kiss.

"This is real," Tycho assures him as he rolls them over, pressing Wedge back into the pillows and deepening the kiss.

A little while later, Wedge gets to achieve his dream of cooking a meal for Tycho. He burns the toast and over-salts the eggs, but Tycho doesn't mind at all. He just sits at the table watching Wedge bustle around the little kitchen, unable to take his eyes away. And, just so, the food is good because it was made by someone he loves and who loves him.

“What's on the docket for today?” Tycho asks when they've nearly finished.

Wedge looks up at him apologetically. “I'm in meetings all afternoon. I tried to cancel them when I heard they were letting you out yesterday, but all the bigwigs are coming in and-”

“Hey, don't worry about it. I don't expect your life to stop because of me. What's going on that's so important?”

He doesn't expect Wedge's face to splinter into a grin in response. “Admiral Ackbar and I have been working on reforming Rogue Squadron, and everything is on the verge of being finalized.”

Tycho matches his expression. “That's great! Do you know who you'll have for pilots?”

“I'll be commanding,” Wedge tells him. “Most of them will probably be political appointees from various New Republic member states. Have to keep everyone happy, though I'm washing out anyone who doesn't measure up. Being a symbol isn't worth it if it gets someone killed.”

“Of course.” Tycho has always admired how much Wedge cares for his pilots, how fiercely he defends his ideals.

“I want you as my XO.”

The words come out with a strange, bitter tone that makes Tycho tilt his head curiously. “You've never sounded upset about that before.”

Wedge huffs in frustration, launching to his feet and clearing away their plates with more force than necessary. “It's an uphill battle trying to get you back on active duty,” he explains, depositing the dishes in the sink. He turns, arms tightly crossed. “I've been in contact with our superiors, and most of them don't trust you. They don't want you back at all. They're like that guard who didn't want to let you go.”

Tycho's mouth drops open. “You're kidding.” But even as he says the words, he knows how foolish they are. How foolish and naive he was to assume he could just walk away from Lusankya and back into his old life. Have the last two months taught him nothing?

“No.” Wedge shakes his head sharply. “I think Ackbar is on our side, but that means nothing if everyone else shouts him down. I'm working on it, though,” he promises. “I'll make them understand. They have to know how valuable you are. They know what you've done before and what you still have to offer this fight.”

Tycho nods slowly, trying to suppress the coldness he can feel growing in his gut. “What can I do?”

“I don't know.” Wedge drops into his seat again, all of the anger suddenly gone. He looks at Tycho, and Tycho can see the disappointment in his eyes, the frustration that he can't just make them _see_.

“It may take some work, but we'll convince them,” Tycho tells him. He doesn't know what he'll do otherwise. Flying for the Rebellion and then the New Republic has been his life for five years. He doesn't know what he'd do without it. “If they released me from confinement, surely that means they trust me on some level?”

Wedge still looks wary, but he nods. “We'll fight this together just like everything else.”

 

Wedge is so reluctant to leave when the time comes that Tycho practically has to push him out the door, insisting that he'll be fine on his own. As soon as he's gone, Tycho is hopping on the apartment's computer terminal and catching himself up on all the news he missed during his long eight months out of the loop. Nothing of incredible importance, he finds with relief. More efforts on the part of the New Republic to beat back the remains of the Empire. Some wins, some losses, some draws. War as usual.

Then he braces himself and types in a new search: Lusankya. He scrolls past all the articles about his own release with barely a glance, only briefly grateful none of those reporters has been able to find him, as he's anything but eager to give interviews.

Then, further back in the archives, he finds what he's looking for. Reports of other Lusankya agents who have been activated in the last eight months. Two of them, each the same as the ones he'd heard about before his own little vacation: links to Lusankya discovered after their crimes were committed, nothing unusual until one day they snapped and committed an unspeakable act. Neither willing or able to answer questions afterward.

He opens the pair of holos attached to one of the articles and squints at the faces of Osira Korror and Kraton Lassic. Does he know either of them? Were they faces he saw during his time in Ysanne Isard's prison, others not as fortunate as he?

Though he spends long minutes staring, trying to jog something loose in his brain, the images blurring in front of his eyes, there's nothing. The two are strangers to him.

With a sigh, he opens another browsing tab and inputs a new search. He checks that the terminal's printer is fully loaded with flimsi, then hits the output button. Page after page lands in the tray, and they don't stop coming for some time.

 

Hours pass, and Tycho barely notices. He's still hard at work when the front door of the apartment opens, Wedge returning, and he doesn't even look up. Wedge's footsteps stop at the entryway to the kitchen as he pauses for a moment, then clears his throat.

“Um, what are you doing?”

That's when Tycho blinks himself out of his haze and takes in the transformed kitchen from Wedge's point of view. A huge partial galactic map covers the table, dozens of flimsi sheets taped together, edges drifting over the sides of the tabletop and supported by the tops of the chairs. Atop it are spread even more sheets, as well as Tycho's datapad, holding at least a dozen open content tabs, and a handful of differently-colored markers.

“Cross-referencing the histories of all the activated Lusankya agents,” Tycho explains, pointing to the symbols, lines, and intersecting circles he's drawn on the map. “If I can find some sort of correlation, it might give us a hint as to where Lusankya is located.”

Wedge frowns. “Intelligence is already taking care of all that. Weren't you supposed to be resting?”

Tycho makes a face at him as he carefully folds part of the map over and reclaims a chair. “I've done nothing but sit around helpless for months, Wedge. I need to do something.”

“I understand that.” Wedge crosses the kitchen and lays a hand on his shoulder, leans in to kiss his cheek. He still looks worried. “But you should be taking it easy.”

“I'm not an invalid,” Tycho snaps.

Wedge takes his hand away, a frown creasing his features again. “I know that.” He looks stung. “I'm just worried about you. You've been through so much.”

Tycho sighs loudly, rubbing his hands over his face. “I'm sorry. I know you're trying to be good to me, and you are.” He manages a little smile. “You're so good to me. But I hate feeling like I'm not doing anything useful.”

“You've always hated feeling helpless,” Wedge agrees.

“Exactly. I keep thinking about the people who are still trapped there. I feel responsible for them. We need to get them out before this happens to one of them.” He looks up at Wedge. “Do you understand?”

“I do.” Wedge steps closer again, reaches for him, and Tycho squeezes his hand, the moment of tension already forgotten. “How can I help?”

Tycho smiles and gladly hands him a stack of flimsi. He explains his process, and then they work together, scanning articles for mentions of any travel undertaken by the agents before their activation, drawing lines on the map to trace their paths, making special note of the spaces between points when there's a gap in knowledge. Noting in detail the possible Lusankya connections found after the fact.

Tycho feels his frustration growing, because what started as a niggling suspicion has grown clearer and clearer since he started this: there doesn't seem to be any pattern. Sure, there are worlds where the data points intersect – Coruscant, Corellia, Chandrila – but they're all large population points, common travel destinations that are clearly correlation, not causation.

Wedge makes them break for dinner with gentle insistence, and as he stands at the stove stirring a pan of sizzling vegetables, Tycho comes up behind him, wrapping his arms around his waist and resting his chin on his shoulder.

“You never did tell me how your meetings went.”

Wedge turns his head with a smile, stealing a kiss before giving the food another stir. "I didn't want to interrupt you." His smile widens. "But if you insist. The new Rogue Squadron is all but a go at this point. I got to see profiles for some of the potential pilots."

"That's good. Anyone catch your eye?"

"The decisions are going to be hard. There are so many talented pilots applying nowadays, maybe even more than when we were still Rebels."

"Some people are more willing to sign their name to what's been legitimized as a Republic rather than what was seen as a band of outlaws."

"Exactly. And now that the academies are starting to come under new management with more relaxed admittance requirements, we're getting more female and nonhuman pilots as well, which is good to see. I don't know how I'm ever going to choose."

"Isn't that what you have an executive officer for, to help you with things like that?"

Wedge's grin lights up the room. "You're in, then?"

Tycho makes a face at him. "Was it ever a question? Assuming the New Republic can see its way back to putting me in service, I'll be right there by your side like always."

Wedge drops his spatula and spins to grab Tycho. Happiness fairly radiates off of him. "This is really happening. We're going to make this happen."

"Rogue Squadron is coming back," Tycho agrees, "and the Empire had better be ready."

 

It's a pleasant surprise how fast Tycho falls back into a routine. He and Wedge go to the gym together in the mornings. They take turns cooking each other meals or work together. Sometimes, friends visit. Luke stops by one day, Hobbie and Wes on another while on a layover as part of a hyperspace navigation exercise with their current training squadron. Most days Wedge has duties at the local branch of Starfighter Command, finalizing plans for the new Rogue Squadron amongst other things. Tycho continues his own project, though he grows no closer to any useful conclusions. Occasionally, he sees Dr. Aschansa. Every night, he and Wedge sleep in the same bed.

It's more domestic than they've ever been, and Tycho has no problem admitting how much he loves it, even knowing it won't last. Perhaps that just makes it sweeter. Soon they'll back fighting a war as they've been doing since they met, but that doesn't mean he can't enjoy now and look forward to a return to this life later on down the line.

Then one day Wedge comes home face creased with stress, and Tycho is instantly on edge. He abandons his maps and stacks of flimsi to sit beside his partner on the sofa. “What happened?”

“I take it you haven't watched or read any of the news today.”

“I haven't. Tell me.”

Wedge sighs loudly. “There was an attack today, on Naboo. An aide made an attempt on the queen's life but was taken down by her handmaidens. Two of them were killed in the process.”

Tycho's gut tightens. “A Lusankya agent.”

Wedge nods. “The name of the prison was the last thing the aide said before she died.”

Tycho lets out a long breath, leaning against the back of the couch. “I bet Command loved that.”

“Words were said,” Wedge confirms, an edge coming into his voice. “About you and how it's not safe to have you running around. How my judgment on the manner is obviously compromised.”

“You learned to let that particular barb slide past you years ago.”

“I wanted to punch all of them just the same.”

“I like when you defend my honor.” But the joke falls flat. “Don't you ever wonder-?” Tycho begins, but Wedge is quick to cut him off.

“Absolutely not. You've said it yourself: your case is different than all the others. You remember some of your time there. Isard declared you unfit for conversion and sent you away. No one has found anything wrong with you. You haven't changed at all.”

Tycho looks at him, and he's remembering what happened just the night before: the nightmare that had brought him awake screaming even at the vague, disjointed images – needles, electricity, a sharp-edged smile – and didn't let him rest for the remainder of the night.

“Okay, you haven't changed at all in ways you wouldn't expect a person imprisoned and tortured for half a year to.” Wedge's eyes are flinty. “I have absolute faith in you, and I don't understand why others don't.”

“You never could understand injustice.” Tycho sighs. “This doesn't sound good for me, though. I know you haven't spoken to anyone about it yet, but what are the odds of them actually going for me as your XO? If they think I could snap at any time, they're not going to put me anywhere near a live fighter or a combat situation, and they won't want to put any recruits in danger.”

Wedge grinds his teeth. “We'll convince them. Maybe...” A look crosses his face, an idea, then just as quickly, he looks stricken.

“What?”

“No. No, I won't do that to you.”

“What are you thinking, Wedge?”

He bites his lip for a long moment, then speaks. “I was thinking, maybe if we bargain with them. If you're comfortable with it, we offer to have you work with the squadron only under certain restrictions that might make our superiors more comfortable with the idea. Training lasers only on your fighter, give them access to your communications, let them ask you questions so they know you're not hiding anything...”

“Let them interrogate me whenever they want,” Tycho paraphrases woodenly.

Wedge touches his hand. “You don't have to do this.”

“I do though. I want to fly, Wedge. I want to be back up there fighting for the cause, and if this is the only way I can, I'll do what I have to.”

Wedge watches him, nods slowly. “We make a list, then. Lead with more regulations than you'd actually need. Let them bargain it down. Then, when we start to convince them you're trustworthy, those restrictions will start to fall away again.”

Tycho thinks about it. He doesn't want to go on living like a prisoner, even in small ways. He wants to be free, as he knows he deserves. But if he agrees to this, he can get back there eventually. Even if he can't literally fight, he can teach. He can give other pilots the skills they need to stay alive and take the fight to the Empire and the other enemies of freedom. Sitting out isn't an option for him; it never was.

“It's a plan,” he says aloud.

Wedge smile is restrained but there. “We'll make this work, I promise.” He reaches into his bag and pulls out a stack of flimsi, holds it out to Tycho.

“What's this?”

“As much information on the aide as I could access. For your project.”

Tycho kisses him, takes the information, and goes back to the kitchen.

 

Two days later, Wedge arrives with the final list of Rogue Squadron candidates and a huge grin. “They're shipping me out to Folor to meet our potential pilots at the end of the week, and they don't know it, but you're coming with me if I have to hide you in my suitcase.”

Tycho is ready. It's bittersweet to pack up what little of the contents of the apartment will be coming with them, to say goodbye to this brief peaceful respite, but he's ready. The mobile, military base life is one he's familiar with, and he's itching to be back in the cockpit again, even if it's only a training ship with no weapons. Hell, even if it's just a military-grade simulator. He hasn't been behind the stick since his nail-biting flight from Akrit'tar, and he fiercely misses this thing that has always been so much a part of him.

He's ready.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You can read a "missing scene" featuring Tycho's nightmare [here](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15185387).


	3. Tenacious

It's not a real ship, it's not real space, but the simulator is the next best thing. Deep in the training base on Folor, Tycho straps himself in and starts to ready his replica TIE fighter. It's odd being back in this cockpit again - it brings to mind memories of that fateful mission to Coruscant - as well the knowledge that he's about to fly it against New Republic ships and fighters. He's done sim runs like this before, more times than he could count – under the Rebellion and New Republic, not just the ones Isard had forced on him. But it still makes the hairs on the back of his neck stand up.

He shakes it off, chocks it up to performance anxiety after not having flown in so long. Wedge is trusting him to put his pilot candidates through their paces, and to do that Tycho has to measure up himself.

The simulator screens come to life, other TIES, X-wings, and the capital ships _Korolev_ , _Redemption_ , and _Warspite_ fading into existence. Tycho gooses his engines and dives in.

The battle is a fierce one - these pilots are good, especially Green One, Corran Horn, the one Wedge had told him to watch out for in particular. Tycho jukes and dances his fighter, long-unused skills quickly coming back to him, muscle memory taking over. He dispatches the other three members of Horn's flight, allowing himself to feel a small thrill of victory even as he knows they'll have to be better if they're going to survive as Rogues.

Then it's just he and Horn.

Tycho makes a strafing runs across the _Korolev_ as he looks for him - there! The Corellian pilot has spotted him first, a pair of torpedoes streaking in. Tycho jerks his ship to port, hard, and speeds away. _Think it's going to be that easy, Mr. Horn?_

Horn tries to get in behind him, but Tycho slips away, peppering the X-wing with lasers that do no damage against reinforced shields. Horn evades, diving and weaving in an impressive display of skill, but Tycho stays with him. He manages to get into Tycho's aft arc, and Tycho grits his teeth as he breaks away, looping out for a head to head.

He opens fire at maximum range, green lasers splashing across Horn's shields. Tycho keeps up concentrated fire even as he jukes his ship to avoid the X-wing's torpedo lock. If he can get close enough...

Then Horn is firing back, red needles lancing through space, and Tycho's simulator seat vibrates with the impacts, his borrowed astromech screeching as lights on his console go blood red. _Engines out._ Tycho curses, steering with what momentum he has left, still firing - and then his seat jerks again, violently, and all the screens snap to black.

It takes Tycho a moment to realize what happened, but as he scans the post-sim reports, he figures it out. Horn's torpedoes, the ones he had so easily dodged, must have caught up with him once he lost his engines.

Tycho has to laugh at himself. The head to head had been a dangerous choice, a gamble, and he had lost. Sure, he might have taken part of Horn with him, but the Corellian won in the end. Wedge is going to love giving him a hard time over that.

The simulator's hatch pops open, and Tycho climbs out, making his way across the training complex to where Horn and his fellows have gathered. He congratulates the man on his victory, shakes his hand, tells him how much he enjoyed the run.

The entire time, Tycho can see the other four pilots watching him, clearly trying to figure out who he is. They don't know then. That makes things easier.

Then there's a hand touching his arm, and he turns see a woman in a Lieutenant's uniform who tells him without preamble that Admiral Ackbar wants to see him. Tycho's pulse jumps as he lets her lead him away. This will be the result of Wedge's meeting with the Admiral and General Salm. He's about to find out whether they'll allow him his own place in the squadron or not.

When he arrives in Ackbar's office, he salutes the admiral and general smartly before letting his eyes dart to Wedge, taking in his reassuring smile. It was must be going well, then. They didn't call him here to kick him off the base. Hope rises in his chest.

 

_You realize you will be flying a defenseless bomb, you will have no privacy and no freedom._

When Tycho leaves the room with Wedge only a few minutes later, Ackbar's words are still echoing in his brain, but he can't find it in himself to be too upset by them. He had known that was what he was agreeing to. Part of him wishes they had done as Wedge had predicted and not taken them up on every single restriction they had offered, but it's done.

And now he's officially a Rogue again, and that makes Tycho happier than anything. He may not be flying combat, he may be under a microscope, but he's still back in the military, back where he can fight even if it's not exactly the way he's used to. He's where he belongs.

He grins over at Wedge. "Salm looked like he wanted to deck you."

"Lucky for me he's too restrained for that." Wedge is grinning too, brown eyes sparkling. He nudges Tycho's arm. "I would've fought him, though. And I would've won, for you."

"You're ridiculous." But Tycho casts a quick glance around to make sure no one is watching, then ducks in to kiss him.

 

The roster is finalized, and real training begins. It doesn't take much observation for Tycho to see exactly how right Wedge was right about Corran Horn. The former law enforcement agent is talented, but he's arrogant, too, and a loner in a way that doesn't befit a member of a fighter squadron. He's learning, though. The trick Wedge decides to pull with the Pig Trough exercise and the dressing-down he gives Corran afterward appear to be taken to heart.

Part of Tycho can't help but like the man. He's tenacious and fiery and an excellent pilot - more than worth his place in the squadron. And he's observant, too. Ever since their conversation after that initial sim ended with Tycho's escort shepherding him back to his room, Corran has been watching. He hasn't asked any questions yet, Tycho and isn't certain whether that's a good thing or not.

 

“He's ex-CorSec, Wedge,” Tycho explains one day. “He knows something's not right. Maybe I should speak with him before he starts digging into it.”

“No. I've said it before, and I stand by it: telling the squadron about this issue will only confuse and distract them. They have no reason not to trust you, and we don't need to give them one.”

“You have to realize how naive that is. If Horn finds out we're keeping this a secret, he's going to be upset.”

“Let him be upset. If he raises a fuss, I'll kick him out.”

“Wedge, you can't do that for me. Horn is good; you need him.”

“The same can be said for you.”

Tycho sighs, long and loud. “I guess I won't worry about it for now. If he starts digging around, asking questions, I'll answer them.”

“That's your prerogative,” Wedge says. “You know how I feel.”

Tycho nods and leans back in his chair, rubbing his eyes. “I don't like keeping secrets from them.”

“I know you don't. Someday this will be over, I promise you that.”

Tycho makes himself smile. He doesn't know if that's a promise Wedge can actually make, but he'll let himself believe.

 

“I spoke to Corran,” Tycho says as he enters Wedge's office six months later.

“Good, good. What did the two of you find out?”

Tycho fills him in on what Corran had been able to deduce about Emtrey and the droid's origins and dual personalities. “We don't think it's going to be a serious risk to security.”

“Excellent, that's good to hear.” Wedge punches a few buttons on his datapad then smiles up at Tycho. “I like seeing the two of you working together. Getting rid of that antagonism is good for everyone.”

Tycho's face twists. “He happened to mention trying to slice my service record while looking into Emtrey.”

Wedge is instantly indignant. “If we're talking about breaches of security-!”

Tycho lays a hand on his arm. “It's fine, Wedge. We talked.” He pulls the spare chair over to the desk and drops into it with a sigh. “I told him everything. It was...good to get it out.”

“What did he say?”

Tycho shrugs. “He's still suspicious, and I can't blame him. Salm is a superior officer, and if he thinks there's something to fear from me, why shouldn't Corran follow his lead? But I pointed out to him that he still can make that decision for himself, and he agreed. He's still convinced I could be a danger, but he's promised not to share what I told him with anyone else and to judge me on what he's actually seen for now.”

Wedge nods warily. “You didn't have to answer his question, you know.”

“I know. But, honestly, it felt good to get it off my chest.” Since he's gotten back, it's just been his superiors and closest friends who knew. And even if it's Corran Horn, with all of his suspicion and antagonism, it's still a relief to have it be even a little more out in the open. “I'm not ashamed of it.”

“And you shouldn't be.” Wedge takes his hand. “You knew that mission could lead to such a thing, and you volunteered anyway, without question. Have I ever told you how proud of you I am?”

Tycho looks away, suddenly shy. “You may have mentioned it.”

Wedge squeezes his hand, and when Tycho looks up, Wedge is frowning. “I feel like I haven't checked in with you enough lately. We've been busy, and we're about to be again. How are you holding up?”

“Well,” Tycho answers truthfully. “You really don't need to worry about me so much, Wedge. Six months back at work, even if it's not at the capacity I'd wish, and I feel almost normal again.” He gives Wedge a smile. “Most nights I'm too tired to even have nightmares.”

Wedge frowns again, the joke falling utterly flat.

“Really.” Tycho squeezes his hand. “I'm fine. I've been keeping up my HoloNet visits with Dr. Aschansa, and she says having work to do is good for me. And look at what this squadron has accomplished even in so little time. We've had losses, yes, but victories too. The Rogues are living up to their name, and as you'd insist, I helped with that.”

“You did. If I need to worry less, you need to give yourself more credit.” Wedge lets go of Tycho's hand, pats it once before pushing it gently away – always a sign that they're about to segue back into official business. “Word has come down. The squadron is being inserted into Coruscant, in small groups with different cover identities. All expect for you. I've been ordered to have you remain here on Noquivzor – completely out of the loop.”

Tycho gives vent to sudden frustration with a loud, sharp sigh. “They realize I've _been_ to Coruscant most recently of all of us? I know my way around there; I can help.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Wedge's eyes glint in a way that signifies danger, makes Tycho's pulse quicken with anticipation. “So let me tell you what we're actually going to do.”

 

Being back on Coruscant without the new friends he's made in the squadron and without Wedge is lonely work, but Tycho takes to it with relish just the same. Suddenly out from under his guards, out from under the watchful eye of General Salm, he feels free in a way he hasn't for a long time.

And making preparations for Wedge, gathering the resources he asks for, is easy. Tycho is a good organizer – there's a reason he's a desirable XO – and he knows how to find things. With the assets of Rogue Squadron built into his alias and Emtrey's help, it doesn't take long to nail down a secondary hideout and a handful of fighters.

He'd not supposed to contact Wedge himself except in cases of absolute emergency, and when he gets the information that the Rogues are expected to take down Coruscant's shields within forty-eight hours, it's nearly impossible to hold himself back. But then Wedge calls for an extraction, and Tycho is in the air again, bailing his squadmates out of a hairy situation and shepherding them safely to the hideaway.

He tries to not be too clingy with Wedge, who's been injured in the escape and is likewise worried about his people. And Corran has eyes on Tycho again – after all, he was supposed to be dead on Noquivzor. And Corran claims to have seen Tycho meeting with Kirtan Loor. It takes Tycho a minute to figure out how that could even be, and then it occurs to him: the Duros, Lai Nootka, the contact who had sold him a lot of replacement Headhunter parts. The bar they finalized the transaction in had been crowded; Tycho hadn't seen Corran there.

There isn't time to dwell on it, though. Wedge shuts down Corran's suspicions with extreme prejudice, and, the squadron together once again, they form a plan to take down the shields by hijacking one of Coruscant's orbital mirrors.

Before they head out, Tycho makes a last walk-around of the gold and black Headhunter he'd flown for the extraction and that Corran will be in for this mission. Everything appears to be in order, and as he turns to join his group for the op, he runs into the man coming to get ready. Going for politeness, Tycho tells him how thinks this ship is the best of the lot and implores him to bring it back in one piece.

Corran isn't interested in talking, though. He refuses to meet Tycho's eye, and when Tycho cuts him off from stepping away from the conversation, it's clear he'd rather be anywhere else.

“I want you to know you're wrong about me,” Tycho tells him, the words seeming to burst forth suddenly. “I didn't meet Kirtan Loor the night you saw me. I'm not working for the Imps.” That Corran could think it of him – the very idea is absurd. He's starting to understand how Wedge feels about their superiors.

Corran is anything but understanding. He lays out once again, stiffly, the string of evidence that has been fuel to the fire of his suspicion of Tycho, and when Tycho protests that it's all circumstantial, merely brushes it off. Nothing has been proven _yet_ , Corran claims. It could just be that Tycho is that good.

Tycho bristles, but bites back any further words. If he loses his temper, that's not going to help his case.

“When I return, I'm going to make ferreting out the spy in our midst a hobby,” Corran says, and the threat is clear. “I'm good at the sort of thing, very good.”

But Corran is honest, too. Tycho thinks – hopes – if he does investigate further, he'll find the actual truth and let all this lie.

“Fly well, Corran,” Tycho says and walks away. The conversation was exhausting, and their mission hasn't even started yet.

 

Short hours later, Tycho stands in the mirror control facility beside Wedge and Winter and watches the holographic representation of the gold and black Headhunter collide with a building and disappear, the echo of Corran Horn's last words dying in the air. Tycho swallows the flare of pain in his gut and turns his gaze to Wedge, feels that pain double as the loss twists the other man's features.

Wedge punches the workstation, flings his gas mask across the room, and whirls away. Tycho steps towards him, ready to offer comfort, because he knows how much Wedge hurts, how personally he takes the loss of every pilot under his command. And despite their different feelings on Tycho, he knows the two had grown to be friends, probably more so than Wedge had expected or realized.

Tycho gets a hand on Wedge's shoulder but takes half a step back when he spins again. “I lost another one,” Wedge grits out, and his face is torn. Tycho wants nothing more than to pull him into his arms, but doesn't think Wedge would want that now, here in front of the others.

“Maybe,” he says instead, and he braces his hands on Wedge's shoulders. Maybe Corran did manage to punch out before they lost his signal, Tycho reasons, offering hope that, though slim, is still hope.

And Wedge grabs onto it. Tycho watches his face as he drags himself back together, puts his professional mask back on. “You're right, that's probably what happened.”

“He's a Rogue,” Tycho assures him, squeezing his shoulder once more before letting his hands drop.

“And we take care of our own.” Wedge leads the way out the door.

That hope, dim as the faintest lumen to start with, is soon extinguished.

 

Tycho doesn't think he'll ever be at home in anything that resembles an interrogation, but it doesn't make him as anxious as it once had. Besides, he tells himself, this isn't really about him. Everyone who heard Corran's last transmissions is being questioned as part of the investigation. Wedge, Winter, Mirax, and Iella have already gone in; now it's Tycho's turn.

It starts off simple enough. He recounts as closely as he can remember what happened that night, the exact words that were said, his understanding of what the difficulties with Corran's ship had been: the use of an override code, his inability to manually regain control.

“Captain Celchu, you had access to the override codes for the six Headhunters you purchased, did you not?” the Intelligence agent conducting the interview asks.

That's when Tycho's heart sinks into his boots. He hadn't truly realized until that moment how bad this looks for him.

“Yes, I did, but I certainly didn't use the code at that time, and I hadn't shared them with anyone else.”

The agent goes on like he hasn't spoken. “A conversation between yourself and Lieutenant Horn was overheard before the mission began. He threatened to out you as a spy.”

Tycho swallows. “He did, but I am not.”

“Certainly you wouldn't admit it. And crashing his fighter would have taken care of that threat nicely.”

“Corran was my squadmate. I had no part in this.” Tycho struggles to calm his suddenly-racing heart, bite down on the pain of being accused of causing the very loss that still has his heart aching. “I welcome any investigation into the matter. I have nothing to fear.”

The agent grins, sharp-edged. “Just as well.” He nods to something behind Tycho, and Tycho turns to see a woman in an NRI uniform approaching, holding out a pair of stuncuffs.

“Stand please.”

Tycho does, trembling hands at his back. He knows what this is now.

“Captain Tycho Celchu,” the first agent intones as the other snaps the cuffs onto him, “you are under arrest for high treason against the New Republic and the murder of Lieutenant Corran Horn.”


	4. On Trial

“This is treason, Captain, and murder,” Nawara says plainly. “Given the mood of the people and the nature of your crime, if we lose, the New Republic will put you to death.”

“Then we won't lose,” Wedge says firmly, eyes on Tycho. He lets out a breath and looks back to the lawyer. “If that's all of business for the moment, can we have some time to talk in private?”

“I can't leave you completely alone with him, you understand,” Nawara answers. “I'm sorry about that, to you both. But I will remove myself as much as I am able.” He bows his head and stands, crossing to a far corner of the room and making a great show of studying something on his datapad for anyone who might look. Or perhaps he's really working on the case.

Wedge turns back to Tycho, concern bleeding over his face, even more than he'd let show throughout the meeting so far. “How are you really?” he asks, voice low. “Talk to me, Tycho.”

“It's not pleasant, but I'm managing.” Tycho shrugs as much as he can with the binders he wears. “It's a change to be in a prison that actually acknowledges itself as being one, unlike the NRI custody I was in before.”

Wedge frowns. “I can't even articulate how much I hate seeing you like this.”

“I know.” Tycho quashes the urge to reach out to him. No touching, Nawara and the guards had made that clear. “I feel the same about you.”

“Me?”

Tycho nods, because Wedge is deflecting of course, hiding his own pain while he worries about Tycho. It's easy to see how hard this week has been on him: the victory he should be experiencing over Coruscant's fall stolen by how hard Corran's death had hit him, Tycho's own arrest so soon after, and witnessing the devastating effects of the Krytos virus on the people and the New Republic. And Tycho can't even be there for him for any of it.

“I'm fine.” A little defensiveness slips into Wedge's tone. “You're the one who's unjustly behind bars, facing a possible death penalty for something you would never in a million years consider doing!”

“I meant what I said,” Tycho reassures him. “I trust Nawara, and I trust the New Republic and its people to come to the right conclusions. The truth will out.”

“And if it doesn't?”

“Let's try and cross that bridge when we come to it, hmm? No need to worry about things you can't control.”

Wedge smiles weakly, ruefully. “How are you always so calm? I need to learn your secret.”

“I've been trying to teach you for years, and it hasn't rubbed off yet.” Tycho smiles, too, trying for reassuring.

Wedge sighs, his fingers twitching on the table. “I love you,” he says finally, a sense of helplessness in it Tycho hates, like it's all he feels he can offer.

“I know. I love you, too. And I know you're never going to stop fighting for me, so I've got that to hang onto as well.”

“Commander,” Nawara says from his place across the room, “we should think about heading out. I have research to do, and the guards might get antsy if we stay too long.”

“Very well, Counselor.” Wedge stands slowly, eyes on Tycho the whole time. “I'll come back as soon as I can. I'm not-” He takes a steadying breath. “I won't let them do this to you again.”

Tycho nods. It's not something Wedge can control, and they both know it, but somehow the words are a comfort just the same.

Wedge and Nawara leave, and Tycho is led back to his cell, his binders removed. He rubs feeling back into his wrists as the door slams shut behind him and he sinks down to sit on the bed.

This room is so different from the one he had last time he was in NRI custody. This one is tiny, dim, claustrophobic, and depressing. His new home in solitary confinement makes no pretenses at being anything other than what it is.

He tries to keep his morale up, but it's hard now that he's alone. These four walls closing in on him could be where he spends the rest of his life if his case is lost – assuming by some miracle he manages to escape the death penalty. Which fate would be more merciful?

Tycho tries to shake the thoughts away. A defeatist attitude isn't going to help. He has to keep believing what he told Wedge and Nawara: he's innocent, the three of them know it. They just have to trust that the rest of the galaxy will catch up.

He focuses on a long, deep breath. He can be patient. He can beat down his fear of what might come. He just hopes he can do it for long enough.

 

Tycho gets another visitor a few days later, an unfamiliar older man who introduces himself as a friend: Diric Wessiri, Iella's husband. He's found out about Tycho's case from his wife, who's acting as an assistant to the prosecution, and he finds Tycho's story fascinating.

“Fascinating,” Tycho repeats dully.

 _Fascinating_ is a word used to describe an intriguing holodocumentary or a stellar phenomena or the inexplicable actions of a public figure – not a word used to describe a _person_. Or a friend.

It makes Tycho feel under the microscope all over again. This man doesn't even hate him, not like so much of the galaxy's populace. No, he's not even that involved, just _interested_. Tycho's trial, Tycho's life, is a simple amusement for him.

“Please don't misunderstand me, Captain Celchu,” Diric says, holding up his hands placatingly. “When I spoke to your Commander Antilles, the way he believes so staunchly in your innocence struck me. Wedge is a good man, and I have no doubt you are the same. I want to hear your story for myself.” He gives a somewhat pained smile. “We are the same in some ways, you and I. I, too, have known the hospitality of the Empire, though of course not on the same level as yourself.”

That catches Tycho short. “You were a prisoner?”

Diric nods. “You've heard how Iella, Corran, and I were in hiding after leaving CorSec? Well, the Imps broke my cover about a year ago, caught me up in a sweep. I was brought to prison, interrogated and tortured, beaten and starved, the usual.” He holds up thin hands that shake slightly, but he grins at Tycho between his fingers. “They didn't break me though. I was freed when the planet was taken, and now here I am.”

“Here you are.” Tycho finds himself smiling slightly. Perhaps he'd judged him too quickly.

“So,” Diric says. “Will you tell me your story in return? I want to hear it straight from you, not the news or court of public opinion.”

Tycho tells him. He starts with the mission to Coruscant, his capture, the little he remembers of captivity in Lusankya, then Akrit'tar, his escape, and all that's come after, right up until he was taken into custody this time around. Diric listens, his eyes alert, asking a question to clarify now and then. Tycho is a little surprised to realize how good it feels to talk about what he's been through like this, someone hearing it all fresh with no prior opinions, giving him the benefit of the doubt.

“So,” he finishes, and yet he still can't help the cynicism that enters his tone, “do you think I betrayed the New Republic and killed my squadmate?”

Diric makes a face as he shakes his head. “I think it's fairly obvious you didn't. I can tell when a person is lying, and everything you just told me is true. It's a neat frame-up job, though.”

“It is.” Tycho sighs.

“We must trust the court will get to the bottom of it,” Diric says. “We must push them to be better, to see the truths they prefer not to look at. Your Counselor Ven will do that as will Iella.” He smiles, and his love for her is plain. “She may be convinced you're guilty of Corran's murder now, but she is a fair woman. When the evidence mounts, she'll back down.”

“I believe that.”

 

Tycho is more grateful than he can say for his constant stream of visitors. The guards seem annoyed by it, but he's convinced it's one of the few things keeping him sane in here. If he had to spend any more time alone in the tiny room, he doesn't know what he would do. He's already fought off more than one panic attack in there.

And it's not like the outings he gets to go the courtroom are any sort of relief. Actively watching the playing out of his fate in front of him is nearly as bad as knowing nothing of the machinations going on outside his cell. Some small wins, some backsteps, more victories, more damning evidence. It never seems to really lean in either direction, and it makes his head spin, makes him sick with worry when he lets himself focus on it.

So he concentrates instead on the friendly faces. Nawara, as his counsel, comes often of course. Usually he brings Wedge with him. Nothing could keep Wedge away, Tycho knows, and just the thought makes him smile. Diric keeps coming back, too, and though they've just met, Tycho grows quickly to trust him, to appreciate his insights and sympathetic ear, his wicked sense of humor and bright outlook.

Then there's Winter. It takes her longer to get in to see him than the others, but he doesn't hold it against her. He knows Intelligence keeps her busy. Though they haven't seen each other much over the years, they'd bonded immediately upon their meeting and become close friends, both fellow Alderaanians and steadfast Rebels. It's been good having her around as the squadron's liaison these last few months, and he's grateful for her presence now.

“It's all political machinations,” she tells him when they're finally sitting across from each other. Her countenance is steady, but he knows her well enough to sense the anger she's holding back. “They need to make a show to legitimize this government. It's not fair to you, but they see it as an acceptable trade.” She shakes her head. “I was there right next to you when Corran died. I saw your face, Tycho. There's no way you knew. There's no way you had anything to do with it.”

Tycho lets out a breath. The memories of that night are still so clear, the helplessness and loss and grief. With her holographic memory, Winter is probably looking at his pained expression right now, even as she gazes at him in realtime.

“Tycho.” She reaches to touch his hand, and when a guard moves to interrupt, she turns such a cold stare on him that he steps back into place wordlessly. Her eyes are soft again when she looks back at Tycho. “I know I don't have to tell you this, but you won't give up. You have friends fighting for you, and we won't let you fall. Never.”

Tycho swallows against a lump in his throat, nodding. “Thank you, Winter.”

 

Tycho is lucky in another way as well. His jailers don't have to let him continue to speak to Dr. Aschansa, but they do. Once a week, he gets to enter another tiny private room with a secure HoloNet connection that hooks him up to his counselor's office and nothing else. And yet as soon as she appears on the screen, dark curls, brown skin, and warm brown eyes over her usual white tunic, he feels a bit calmer.

“Good morning, Tycho,” she says with a smile. “How are you holding up?”

“All right,” Tycho answers, trying to be positive and honest at once.

“I'm glad to hear that. Is there anything particular you need to discuss today? Any progress in your case?”

“There is something.” Tycho bites his lip for a moment, forcing down the surge of anxiety at what he's about to say. “Wedge's testimony didn't go well. And Nawara said something when he was here earlier: that if the tribunal decides I am a traitor but only because I've been brainwashed, they'll likely commit me to a mental hospital for treatment until they think I'm cured.”

Dr. Aschansa nods. “The diminished sapience defense. It's a possibility.”

“But there's nothing to cure. Not on that front.” Tycho lets out a frustrated huff. “I don't want that to happen. I'm afraid-” He cuts himself off, biting his lip harder.

“What are you afraid of, Tycho?”

Tycho looks away from the screen and its camera and down at his hands, the heavy cuffs binding them. “I don't want to be locked away,” he says softly. “If there's nothing for them to cure but they keep looking for it, they can never prove to themselves that I'm safe. I might be there forever. I don't think I could handle that.”

“They'd be taking away a lot of your freedom,” Dr. Aschansa agrees.

“Exactly. I've had so much of that already. Even once I escaped the Empire, I was behind bars for two months, then I was still under such careful watch, and now...and they could just confine me like that for as long as they wanted, and I couldn't do anything about it. And I know at a top view, that sort of institution isn't something to be afraid of,” Tycho explains, frustrated again. “The Rebellion and the New Republic have always taken such good care of me in dealing with everything, since the beginning. I would go, under other circumstances, if I thought I needed to, if you thought I needed to, and we talked about it.”

“You've always been receptive to treatment,” Dr. Aschansa responds, “but I've never seen you as being a danger to yourself or others, nor has anyone you've worked with previously, so you never needed that.”

“I still don't. I'm not going to hurt anyone.”

Dr. Aschansa's face is full of sympathy. “I believe you, Tycho. I've gotten to know you over the last two years, and I don't believe you're guilty of anything or a danger to anyone. Except the New Republic's enemies, of course.”

Tycho manages the ghost of a smile. “I wish you could convince the tribunal of that.”

Dr. Aschansa brightens suddenly. “I was going to tell you during this session, actually. Counselor Ven wanted me to be the one to let you know. I've been called to testify on your behalf. I'll be on Coruscant next week.”

Tycho grins. “You're kidding.”

“Of course not. I'm not much more than a character witness, but I'll do what I can. I can tell the tribunal exactly what I've just told you: that nothing in any of your sessions ever made me consider you a risk of any kind. I'll be there for you, Tycho.”

“It's nice knowing I'll have another person on my side, someone the tribunal might actually listen to.”

“Are you upset at all by the idea of me potentially sharing some of the things you've told me privately with the court?”

Tycho thinks about it. He's told Dr. Aschansa everything about himself over the course of their relationship. His lingering guilt and grief over Alderaan, the mental scars Lusankya and his treatment after have left him with, the way his anxiety sometimes still creeps up on him in everyday life. Everything. In some ways, she knows him better than even Wedge does.

“No,” he decides. “I never you told you anything that was a secret, not exactly. And I know you were reporting on me back when we first met. It won't be that different. I'll do anything I have to to be free.”

“You're a braver man than I am, Tycho Celchu,” Dr. Aschansa tells him. “I promise I'll keep as much of your confidence as I am able.”

“I appreciate it.” Tycho lets himself smile again, brushing aside the darker thoughts. “It'll be good to see you in person again, too. How long's it been – a year?”

“Nearly. Not since you left Chandrila.”

“Time flies. Or at least it did when I had something to do other than stare at the walls and contemplate whether that's what I'll be doing for the rest of my life.”

“We'll take care of you, Tycho,” Dr. Aschansa promises. “Even if brainwashing is the conclusion the tribunal comes to, you'll have people on the outside still rooting for you. Me and Wedge and your other friends. We won't stop advocating on your behalf, and we won't go down without a fight. Keep your chin up.”

Tycho smiles and feels what he hasn't in a while: hope. No matter where he goes physically, he knows his support system isn't going to disappear.

 

The reunion with Dr. Aschansa never happens.

The next morning, Tycho sits in the courtroom waiting for Nawara and his surprise witness to arrive. He's not certain exactly what's going on, only that whoever his counsel is bringing in could possibly break the case wide open. Tycho's heart rattles in his chest, and anxiety and excitement and impatience all tangle together in his gut.

And then Ackbar takes his seat and makes an announcement. There's been an attack. Nawara is injured, and the witness is dead along with the assassin. Tycho barely has time to register the news before the Admiral and Counselor Ettyk are negotiating a recess until Nawara can return, but then he speaks out.

He can represent himself, Tycho insists. He doesn't know how good he'll be; in truth, he's only barely followed some of the developments in the trial, and he clearly doesn't have a knack for law like Nawara. But he's tired of sitting on the sidelines and watching things happen without his input. He refuses to have his own words disregarded any longer.

But that's not to happen either, because suddenly Whistler is whirling and bouncing and shrieking and insisting they have another witness, much to the confusion of everyone present. But when a familiar voice speaks and they all turn to look–

Corran Horn is standing in the doorway, and despite everything, Tycho can't help the huge smile that blooms on his face. Corran is alive, like some kind of miracle. Tycho doesn't even couch it in terms of what it will mean for his case: he's just happy his squadmate is somehow here and safe. He can't wait to tell Wedge.

As the court regains its composure and before he's sworn in as a witness, Corran approaches Tycho's table. His eyes are downcast, face ashen as she says sincerely that he owes Tycho an apology and a debt he can never repay.

Tycho isn't sure what he means yet, but he can only shake his head, accepting the apology but not the debt. Even after everything, he doesn't hate Corran. He couldn't. They've all been manipulated by the Empire in this, every single person in this room, and Corran has only ever done what he thought was right in order to protect the people and the Republic he loves.

Everything seems to happen all at once after that. Corran takes the stand. He explains that he's been in Lusankya himself for the past six weeks, that the prison has been hidden here on Coruscant this whole time – Tycho's stomach rolls sickly at these facts. Corran covers, briefly, his time in Lusankya, and Tycho swallows the shadows of memories the words bring up. Then it's on to how Corran managed to escape (and Tycho gains a new level of respect for him when he hears this) and how he found the files marking both of them as insusceptible to Isard's attempted programming. Corran has figured out who the real spy in Rogue Squadron is, too, he claims, but before he can reveal it, there's another development.

A soldier runs in, breathlessly conveying some information to General Cracken, who leaps to his feet with a curse and shouts for nothing more to be said at this time as he leads the assembled to the adjoining jury room and out onto the balcony.

Tycho can see in an instant what has him so out of sorts. Above the city-planet is the enormous white knife of a Super Star Destroyer. His heart pounds hard against his breastbone. How did that ship even _get_ here?

It becomes painfully clear only a moment later as Whistler scans the commwaves and reports his findings: the ship is broadcasting an IFF beacon identifying it as the _Lusankya._ Tycho swallows, a sense of grimness washing over him. It makes sense. He thinks back to the flimsi maps spread across his and Wedge's apartment back on Chandrila, the project he hasn't had time to so much as glance at in months, how many of those lines had intersected on Coruscant. He never would have considered anything like this. A prison built on a ship and buried, then ripped free from the planet's surface. He shakes his head in mixed wonder and revulsion.

There are X-wings up there, too, dancing with dozens of TIEs, and it's been a long time since Tycho wanted so badly to be with them. If he could just get one shot at that ship...

He hears Wedge's voice, turning to see that it's emerging from a comlink Ackbar has produced. He gives himself only a moment to feel the relief that even an SSD can't take Wedge down before focusing on his words.

Wedge, too, has puzzled out who the spy is: Erisi Dlarit. She pretended to be tractored onto the _Lusankya_ , disappearing back into her true loyalties as it escaped the planet, confirmed what Corran already suspected. Tycho accepts the knowledge with cold finality. He had never suspected her. Erisi was a lot of things, but he'd never thought her a traitor - to the New Republic, to the Rogues, or to himself.

Tycho watches the bright flare that precedes _Lusankya_ jumping to lightspeed with a hollow feeling in his gut. He knows he'll see the ship again. He wants to see her again. More than anything, he needs to be a part of the op that destroys her. Both the ship and Ysanne Isard.

But that will come later. Now, the members of the tribunal are speaking again. Cracken reveals that much of the trial has been a sham: he knew all along that Tycho could not have been the spy in the squadron, though he was unsure of his status as possible Imperial agent. Ettyk and Salm object to the ruse, but Tycho finds he doesn't have any words himself, lost with the suddenness of everything that's happened. Cracken goes on to explain all the good the trial did, how it lured Erisi into false security, how it had to have distracted Isard, and that with a simple public ceremony he can restore Tycho's reputation.

Tycho can only smile weakly. He's stung, of course, at the knowledge of how he's been used, but he understands, too. Mostly he's just tired. Exhausted, really, and longing to hear the words he thinks might be coming now, words that are all he really wants and that suddenly seem so close.

And he gets them.

“On behalf of the New Republic Armed Forces, I withdraw all charges against Captain Tycho Celchu,” Halla Ettyk says, and Admiral Ackbar adds, “It is with great pleasure, Captain Celchu, that I say this case is dismissed. You are truly free to go.”

 

Tycho stays in the justice building for the time being; it's as safe a place as any as the security incident in the parking area is dealt with and the battle above winds down. At one point, Corran receives a comm call and leaves the room, looking concerned. Eventually, the chaos in the skies has ended, and Tycho smiles as he hears from Wedge, the message passed through Ackbar, that he's coming down, and they arrange to meet in the nearest hanger.

Though it doesn't take Tycho long to get there, Wedge has already landed when he arrives and sprints across the tarmac to meet him as soon he catches sight of Tycho. A quick, tight hug, and then Wedge steps back but keeps hold of his hands. “I'm sorry to hear what happened. Are you all right?”

“Fine. Nawara's going to be okay, isn't he? No one actually said how serious it was...”

Wedge's face takes on a pained expression. “You haven't heard. Maybe you should sit.”

Tycho feels his knees lock up and his throat go dry at the words. He hasn't heard what? What does Wedge have to tell him that he thinks his reaction to will be that bad? Were there losses in the battle against _Lusankya_ and her TIEs? Tycho mentally reviews the squadron roster in his mind, wonders whose death would hurt him the most. Or perhaps it is Nawara. Maybe his condition is worse than he thought. Or–

Tycho cuts off the increasingly panicked thoughts. “I'm fine standing.”

Wedge nods, lets out a slow breath, then looks him in the face as he delivers the news. “Corran commed me as I was on my way in. Diric Wessiri is dead.”

Something in Tycho's chest crumples. “What?”

Wedge gestures to a bench, and Tycho sinks onto it without feeling. Wedge takes his hand again. “There's no easy way to say this. He was one of Isard's Lusankya agents.”

Tycho feels cold. Diric Wessiri, a Lusankya agent. Diric, with his fragile frame and good humor and unending kindness, one of Isard's programmed killers. And Tycho had sat across from him day after day with no clue. How could he not have known? How could he not have done something? How did he not see _signs_...

“Tycho?”

It's only then he realizes Wedge has still been talking, explaining how Diric's loyalties were revealed and how he came to be killed, but the words were little more than an indistinct buzz at the back of Tycho's mind.

“I should have known,” Tycho says dully.

“How could you? How could any of us? Iella was his wife, she knew him better than anyone, and she never suspected, not once, until he was firing at her. And _I_ never-” He chokes off, and Tycho recognizes Wedge's own guilt in the sudden silence.

Tycho squeezes his hand and asks softly, “How is she?”

“Devastated,” Wedge murmurs, eyes flickering closed as his shoulders slump. “She shot him herself, Tycho, before she realized who he was. She held him while he died.” He takes a shuddering breath, and when he opens his eyes again, there's a wet sheen to them. “I can't even imagine.”

“She has someone with her?”

“Corran. He won't leave her side for a moment, even to make the reports NRI is demanding from him. I wanted to pay my respects, too, but...I didn't want to intrude.”

“I'm sure she'll appreciate the sentiment, but I think you're right to wait.” Tycho should go himself as well, he thinks. After all, he and Diric were friends. He and Wedge can go together, all of them supporting each other.

They lapse into silence, each lost to their own thoughts. Eventually, Tycho muses quietly, “Isard emerging, even though she escaped this time, is a victory for us. She can't hide that SSD for long, and when we find her, we'll end this. Corran is back. I'm free. Nawara will recover. But all those deaths when the _Lusankya_ took off, and now Diric...” He shakes his head slowly. “Why can we never have stringless victories anymore?”

Wedge gives a wobbly little laugh but squeezes his hand where they're still hanging on, a lifeline to each other. “When have we ever?”


	5. Pursuit

The irony of having fought so hard to regain his place with the New Republic military and Rogue Squadron only to immediately resign is not lost on Tycho, but he can hardly be upset. He's finally free, perhaps doubly so, to do what he needs to do. He understands why the New Republic can't go after Isard, though that absolutely doesn't mean it frustrates him any less. Therefore, he's happy to be here.

Happy to be flying again, happy to be moving without the constant shadow of guards and suspicion. Happy to finally be able to take on all the duties of a normal executive officer. He's one of the first to arrive on the Yag'Dhul base, and just seeing it fills him with excitement. This is a good plan, he knows that.

As the others trickle in, he directs them to their berths and assigns quarters. He works with Winter to secure the equipment they need. He determines candidates for positions on the station. And it's his idea to repaint their X-wings now that they no longer need to be flying New Republic Rogue colors.

It takes Tycho no time at all to decide he wants something on his that represents his homeworld. Only a few minutes of research on the HoloNet bring him the information on the Guard unit that patrolled the city he lived in as a child. The bold black and red colors come back from his memory easily.

He passes the information on to Zraii and watches with almost giddy anticipation as the project comes together. He thinks his rapt attention might be annoying the Verpine tech at some points, but he can't stay away. The way his ship feels suddenly more _his_ than it ever has is almost intoxicating.

Wedge arrives on the base, and though his absence was short, it's good to have him at his side again. Now it really feels like home.

And Tycho is more than happy to show his partner to the quarters he's reserved for them. It's one of the nicer suites in Rogue Squadron's section of the station, one of few really big enough to comfortably contain a couple. Wedge complains about the extravagance, but when Tycho succinctly points out that being ex-New Republic allows them to be assigned to the same space without any questions of impropriety or breaking of regulations, he goes quickly silent.

So that's where they are a few nights later, wrapped around each other in bed sleeping, when the chime announces someone at the door. A glance at the chrono shows it's after 0200. Tycho mumbles and shifts, but Wedge gently pushes him back down. “It's probably for me.” He kisses Tycho's ear lightly and is gone.

Tycho has just about drifted back to sleep when his shoulder is jostled slightly. “Sorry, love,” Wedge murmurs. “It's Corran to see you. He said not to bother you, but it looks serious.”

Frowning, Tycho hauls himself to a sitting position. “Did he say what it's about?”

“No. But he looks upset. I think you should talk to him.”

“Yeah. Okay.” Tycho tries to shake himself to full consciousness, goes out through the living area and to the front door of their quarters, finding Corran standing in the hall shifting nervously from foot to foot. “What can I do for you, Corran?”

Corran swallows. “I'm sorry for bothering you so late. I told Wedge he didn't have to-”

Tycho waves his protests away. “It's fine. Are you all right?” He takes in the haphazardly arrayed clothes the younger man wears, the drawn lines of his face. He looks exhausted, though that's not exactly a surprise for this time of night.

“Can we talk?” Corran asks finally. “Maybe take a walk?”

“Sure. Give me a moment.”

By the time Tycho has collected his jacket and boots and told Wedge not wait up, he's fully awake and with a good idea of what this is about. They walk together down the hall away from the block of living quarters, Tycho following Corran's lead. He expects him to lead them to one of the station's tapcafs or perhaps Rogue Squadron's hangar, someplace comfortable for what might be a difficult conversation. Instead, they end up on the dimly lit and otherwise empty observation deck, walking along the giant picture windows that provide a spectacular view of Yag'Dhul and the glittering stars beyond.

Corran stops and gazes out, hands resting on the sill. Tycho stands beside him silently, waiting for him to speak in his own time. It seems a small eternity, time Tycho knows he probably needs, before he does.

“How did you do it?” Corran's face when he turns to Tycho is torn, beseeching. “How did you just...come back from Lusankya, after everything that happened, and just go back to life as normal?”

“I didn't.” Tycho doesn't lie, doesn't sugarcoat it. He can be honest with Corran; he deserves that.

Corran lets out a rough breath and turns back to the viewport, letting his forehead rest against it. “You seem to be doing okay now.”

“It was process. It still is, and it's never been easy. But I've always had people who were there for me and goals to focus on, and that helped.”

Corran nods but doesn't say anything, breathing heavy.

“Has it been this bad since you got back?” Tycho asks gently. “What finally brought you to me tonight?”

Corran answers with a question. “Have you ever had a panic attack?”

“Not after Lusankya, but yes. Anxiety is something I struggle with off and on. It was especially bad for awhile after Alderaan.”

Corran nods again, still staring out at the planet. “I think that's what happened to me. I had this dream. More of a memory, really. Being electrocuted. Iceheart asking me questions, hurting me more when I refused to answer. Still hurting me, even when I did. It hurt so much, and I couldn't escape.” He shudders. “And then I finally woke up, and I couldn't breathe. My heart was racing, and my head was pounding, but I couldn't get any air in. Scared Mirax half to death.”

“Sounds a bit like the night terrors I had when I first got back,” Tycho tells him. “The dreams were always indistinct, since I could hardly remember anything, then when I finally woke up – more like when Wedge managed to wake me up – I was so worked up I couldn't sleep for the rest of the night.”

“What did you do to make them go away?”

Tycho shrugs. “I think it just took time, and I dealt with them the best I could along the way. Wedge was always there; he was my rock through everything. He still is. And there were the relaxation exercises and mantras my counselor gave me.” Tycho pauses, thoughtful. “Have you been to see one?”

“No. Command offered to arrange it, but I said no.”

“Can I ask why?”

Corran sighs, fidgeting with the edge of the viewport. “I've never much liked talking to strangers about my feelings, I guess. And this in particular...they wouldn't understand.”

“No, not the specifics, of course not, but a trained professional can help just by being there to listen or by giving you techniques to help deal with whatever difficulties you're having.”

Corran smiles faintly. “You sound like an infomercial.”

“I do, don't I? I'm serious, though. I already had some ways of coping from before, but Dr. Aschansa has helped me a lot, too.”

“Right.”

“Have you talked about the details with anyone besides the officers you gave reports to?”

“Mirax, a little. Not everything.”

“It was a long time before I was comfortable enough to tell Wedge even most of what I remember. Most of my friends still don't know, and, honestly, there are things I haven't even told him.”

Corran makes a harsh little sound. “It never really goes away, does it? Here I thought you were all better and you could tell me how to be too, and instead you tell me you're still messed up inside.”

“I'm sorry, Corran.” Tycho lays a hand on his arm, squeezes gently. “But I'm here, all right? Anything you want to ask, any help you need, or if you just want a sympathetic ear. I'm not going to judge anything. Needing help with this doesn't make you weak. You understand that?”

“Yeah, I do.” He sighs heavily, and Tycho watches as his eyes droop closed, a whole new layer of exhaustion seeming to fall over him.

Tycho pats his arm once more and withdraws his hand again. “Have you cried yet?” he asks softly.

“What?” Corran's eyes pop open.

“Hear me out. We couldn't while we were in Lusankya, unless it was an unavoidable part of the torture. It showed weakness, and Iceheart or her cronies would have pounced on that. And I couldn't do it while under observation with NRI. I just...couldn't let them see that part of me. But the day they released me, when Wedge finally took me home...” Tycho swallows hard, the memories and emotions attached still gut-punchingly fresh. “He sat beside me on the couch and held me and told me he knew I'd gone through terrible things, even though I hadn't told him about all of them. He said he was ready to give me time, that he hoped someday I could share those things, but for now it was just important for me to know he loved me and that I was safe. I broke down. And he just put his arms around me and let me get it out, all that pent-up pain and fear and most of all _relief_. It was exactly what I hadn't known I needed.”

Corran blinks wide green eyes up at him, and Tycho manages a little smile for him.

“I don't expect you to collapse into my arms right now, Corran. Just think about it. Don't be afraid to be vulnerable with someone you trust, whether that's Mirax or one of your other friends or Wedge or me or a professional. You're hurting, and that's not wrong, but keeping it all inside is only going to make it more painful.”

Corran nods slowly, clearly considering the advice.

“And if the insomnia really does start to get to you, there's always sleep aids, if you use them wisely and safely,” Tycho adds.

Corran shudders. “I don't think I can do that. Not after all the drugs Iceheart forced on me.” He bites his lip. “Just the thought of giving away any of my lucidity, feeling like that again...”

“I understand, Corran. Just try to be sure you're getting enough sleep, all right? I don't want anything to happen to you out there because you aren't fully rested, and I don't want us to have to consider grounding you. I know sitting here unable to fight isn't going to help you either.”

“No, it won't.” A small yawn slips out of Corran's mouth, and he steps back from the viewport, swinging his arms in a stretch. “I think I'm about ready to go back and give it another try, actually.” He gives Tycho a smile, small and a little shaky, but there. “I appreciate this, really.”

“I'm happy to be here, Corran, and I mean it – don't hesitate to come talk to me again. I do want to be here for you in this. If I'd had someone when I got back who'd gone through exactly what I had to help me through it...” He shakes his head. “That would have been an invaluable resource.”

“Yeah. Well...I'll see you in the morning then.”

“Until then, Lieutenant. And remember – no exceptions to early meetings because you were up half the night talking.”

That gets him a genuine if small laugh, and, reassured for the moment, Tycho heads back to his quarters.

Wedge appears to just be drowsing, lifting his head from the pillow when Tycho lets himself into the bedroom. “He okay?”

Tycho nods, tossing his jacket across a chair and sliding back into the bed and Wedge's waiting arms. “Lusankya stuff,” he explains vaguely.

“I thought so.” Wedge looks him over, frowning slightly in concern. “Are _you_ okay?”

“A little raw,” Tycho admits, resting his head on Wedge's shoulder. “But okay. And tired.”

Wedge runs a hand over his hair. “Sleep, then, and pleasant dreams.”

“Pleasant dreams, dear heart.”

 

The Bacta War goes into full swing, the Rogues launching raids on bacta convoys and repeated hit-and-fade attacks against Isard's forces. Things go well for awhile. They liberate large amounts of bacta, donating the healing liquid to the fight against the Krytos virus on Coruscant and to other places that need it.

Then Isard fires back. The defenseless colony at Halanit, one of their beneficiaries, is destroyed, and it's a blow to morale. Wedge is frustrated that he didn't see it coming and prevent it. Gavin, who was there when the attack came, blames himself for not doing more to help, though the rest of them are just grateful he made it back to them in one piece.

“We need a new strategy,” Wedge says later, as he and Tycho sit in his office. “We can't give her any more reason to strike at innocents.”

“So we introduce middlemen,” Tycho suggests. “Instead of giving away the bacta we secure directly, give it to the traders and have them do it. That'll make it much harder for Isard to track.”

“You make a good point.” Wedge leans back in his chair with a sigh, rubbing at his eyes. “We also need to look at how soon we can feasibly launch a strike on Thyferra, specifically on the _Lusankya._ It's going to be a hard-fought battle, there's no two ways about it, but we can't put it off any longer than we absolutely have to. We need to end this embargo.”

“And we have another difficulty to factor in in regards to _Lusankya_. We want to take the ship however we can, but we also need to do everything in our power to rescue the people still in Isard's prison.”

“Of course that's our goal. I want to see them liberated as badly as you and Corran, but you know how battles are, Tycho. And neither of you saw enough of the ship while inside it to even know where the prison is located. We have no way to plan our attack toward that end.”

Tycho grits his teeth in frustration, but not at Wedge. Everything he's said is absolutely true. “I guess all we can do is play chicken and hope we can get her crew to surrender without damaging the structural integrity of the ship too severely.”

Wedge sits up, leans on the desk and fixes him with a look. “We need to consider whether sacrificing the prisoners, if it comes down to that, is something we're willing to do to take or destroy that ship.”

A shiver runs through Tycho. “Rogue Squadron isn't really in the business of sacrificing innocents.”

“I know that.” Wedge lays a hand on his. “I know how much saving them means to you, Tycho. And I also know I can trust you to be objective.”

Tycho takes a deep breath and nods. “If I were one of them and I had the choice, I would accept it. The removal of _Lusankya_ and Isard as threats would be worth more than my life. I just don't know that I can make that choice for others.”

“You don't have to,” Wedge says softly. “That's why I'm in command.”

Tycho closes his eyes for a moment. “But we'll exhaust every other option before it comes to that.”

“Of course we will.”

 

A few short weeks later, it's actually happening. Isard's threats toward the Vratix push their plans forward, but they're ready. Their ground support on Thyferra is in place. They have two capital ships on their side. The torpedo launchers are installed on their freighters and the targeting packages mounted on the station. The location of their base has been intentionally leaked to Isard. The trap is set.

The Rogues, in their X-wings, sit poised on the edge of the system, waiting for the enemy to fall into it. Tycho can feel himself sweating in his flight suit as his heart thumps in his chest. This is it. By the end of the day, both _Lusankya_ and her mistress will either be destroyed or in New Republic hands. Or, barring that, Tycho will no longer be around to worry about them.

There's a flash on his sensor display as _Lusankya_ and _Virulence_ appear in the system. Wedge gives the order, and the Rogues jump out.

 _Isard, here we come_.

 

For far from the first time in his life, Tycho is grateful for the length and breadth of his experience in battle. Without it, he would be utterly lost in the tumult over Thyferra, distracted and disturbed by the flurry of X-wings and TIEs and freighters in deadly ballet, the _Lusankya_ looming large over everything.

The _Freedom_ and _Valiant_ trade blows with the enemy capital ship, and Tycho spares a moment as he vapes an Interceptor to smile. He still feels some amount of fondness and pride for the Alderaanian War Cruiser that had saved them from the ambush at the Graveyard then followed him home like a lost akk puppy.

He doesn't have time to focus on it through, as two more flights of TIEs quickly converge with the Rogues' formation. Tycho blasts the nearest enemy ship easily, then searches for another target. Anticipation is blooming into impatience in the back of his mind. After these fighters are taken care of, they'll make their first run on the _Lusankya_ , and he's eager for it. He tries to tamp down on those feelings; they're the type of thing that can make even an exceptional pilot sloppy and end up getting him killed.

Then the TIEs are all gone, and the X-wings are swooping in at the Super Star Destroyer. Tycho double-checks his transponder, and as soon as he gets a target lock, lets go two torpedoes before angling back away from the ship. Explosions blossom in his rear arc, and damage reports scroll across his display as no less than eighty torps slam into the _Lusankya_ 's shields and hull.

Tycho smiles grimly. _All according to plan._

Another two waves of TIEs, and then he and his wingmate, Nawara, make another run, several dozen more torpedoes streaking in at the now-damaged ship. Between the fire from the _Freedom_ and _Valiant_ and the salvos from the Rogues and their freighter allies, the giant ship is starting to look worse for wear. Large portions of the hull are blackened and burned, punctured and guttering with flames that will soon be extinguished in the vacuum of space.

Tycho bites down on sudden nerves. He can only hope that wherever Isard's prisoners are onboard, they're still safe.

As he sails away from the _Lusankya_ to set up for a third pass, Nawara on his tail, he glances at his display again. Two torpedoes left. He keys his comm, informing Wedge of his intentions, only to get a negative in response.

“The squints have picked up a lamb and are running it clear of here. You and Nine, with your wings, are to pursue.”

Tycho looks at the scan his astromech pulls up for him. One lifeform. His heart slams against his ribs, and he breathes deeply, forcing calm. “You think that's Isard?”

Wedge does. “She’s not getting away. Go, Tycho, go.”

Tycho doesn't even bother responding as he instructs his astromech to acquire the shuttle and speeds off in its direction. This is it. He's going after Isard herself. He may actually get to fire the shot that takes her down.

“Let's be careful, Nine,” he says into the comm, because he can control himself, but Corran may need the reminder. This moment has to be hitting him just as hard. From across the battle, his squadmate acknowledges, then peels away to go after a clutch of Interceptors.

Nawara grabs Tycho's attention again when he announces he has a pair of enemies on his tail, and Tycho pulls a tight turn, leaning into the inertia that presses him to the port side of his cockpit. He snaps a shot at the trailing TIE, a small thrill of victory in his chest when it explodes cleanly. Its wingmate, however, evades his targeting reticle.

The remaining fighter fires, and Tycho gasps sharply as lasers chew through Nawara's shields and blow out the back of his X-wing, fire filling the cockpit. A second later, relief just as strong as the command couch comes shooting out of the blaze as the Twi'lek ejects.

Corran yells over the comm for Ooryl to cover the now-EV pilot, and Tycho takes a second to confirm that his wingmate appears to at least still be alive before putting it from his mind and continuing on his mission. Leaving Nawara behind isn't easy, but he trusts Ooryl to take care of him as best he can.

“Where is she?” Tycho asks his astromech, and the droid beeps, the Lambda re-centering on his display. It's getting closer and closer to the edge of Thyferra's mass shadow. If Isard makes it to hyperspace, they may never find her. Tycho sets his teeth and feeds more power to his engines.

He spots Corran on his sensors, in hot pursuit of a squint that appears to be giving him a run for his money. It can only be Erisi Dlarit. A quick question over the comm confirms it, and although Tycho understands Corran's desire to finish her (he wouldn't exactly say no to a shot himself), he tells the other man to hurry.

Tycho looks down at his display and watches the distance click down between his fighter and the shuttle, which his astromech has tagged the _Thyfonian_. Then he peers out his cockpit, tries to concentrate on where the ship should be out among the whirling stars. He thinks he spots the tiny speck of it, but he can't be sure.

Then there's a ship emerging from behind one of the planet's moons and making a beeline for the spot. Corran, his sensors confirm, and Tycho chews his lip as one hand hovers over the discretionary power indicator. If he pushes everything he has into speed, he'll be able to close faster, but he'll leave himself vulnerable to someone coming up behind him, and he'll need an extra half-second to even things out with his weapons when he arrives. And that extra half-second could mean everything.

Corran's voice squawks in his ear, confirming that Isard is in the shuttle and he needs Tycho's help to get through its shields.

“I copy, Nine. I'll hurry,” he promises and sends every bit of power to speed.

The tiny dot grows, begins to take on the actual shape of a Lambda-class shuttle, juking wildly as Corran harasses it. Not fast enough. Tycho loves his X-wing, wouldn't trade it for anything, but there's very little he wouldn't give for the extra speed of an A-wing right now.

He's almost, _almost_ in minimal effective torpedo range when there's a sharp squeal through the comm that makes him wince and press a hand reflexively against the side of his helmet. Someone hitting their comm unit, maybe, or the dying screech of one of his squadmate's ships. He can't wonder about it now.

A light flips on on his console, and he blinks at it just as his astromech beeps excitedly.

“Acquire target!” Tycho cries as he realizes he's receiving Corran's telemetry data. The second his reticle goes red to indicate a lock, his astromech's chime constant, he jams the trigger down and watches his last two proton torpedoes shoot away.

The blue streaks part around Corran's X-wing, the first detonating and collapsing the shuttle's shields, the second slamming into the fuselage and exploding from the inside. The green X-wing sails through the expanding debris and comes around.

“Who did that?” Corran demands over the comm.

Tycho identifies himself and thanks him for the telemetry data.

“What?” Corran responds, sounding confused, but then he lets it go and compliments Tycho on the shot. “If I couldn’t get her,” he adds, “well, your claim predated mine.”

Tycho just shakes his head. “Corran, _we_ got her. That's all that matters.” Corran did just as much work as he did in this. Tycho may have made the shot, but if Corran hadn't kept her from jumping and gotten the target lock himself, Isard wouldn't be dead right now.

Isard. Dead.

A huge grin lights Tycho's face. Ysanne Isard is dead. She can never hurt him again. She can never hurt anyone else again. A look back shows the _Lusankya_ isn't firing anymore, either, which means it's either been disabled or surrendered. The battle is over.

 

It's quiet, so quiet.

Not that it was ever particularly noisy before. Tycho focuses on keeping his breathing slow and even as he looks around the prison Lusankya for the first time in more than two years. There's an echo in the back of his mind, a faint memory of hushed voices and falling stone and someone crying in the distance.

The prison is deserted now, not even a New Republic forensic team left at this time of night. It's been nearly week since the battle, and in that time numerous investigators have been through this place. They weren't going to let anyone else in to disturb possible evidence before they were finished. And, of course, before that no one could enter until the hull breach was fixed.

Tycho closes his eyes, takes in another deep breath. As much of a disappointment and frustration as it was to have found out Isard transferred all the prisoners elsewhere before they were able to take the ship, it beats the alternative. They could have found a prison full of bodies after how much the ship had been damaged during the fight.

As it is, he won't soon forget how heartsick he had felt between finding out about the hull breach and learning the prison had indeed been empty.

Stone skitters against stone, followed by a quiet curse, and Tycho's eyes snap open. Near the entrance, Wedge is righting himself from where he'd stumbled, looking sheepish.

“I wanted to check on you,” he says. “I can leave if you want me to.”

Tycho manages a soft smile. “I'm all right. And you don't have to leave.”

Wedge joins him, one arm going around his waist as he leans in to kiss his cheek. Then he stands, gazing somberly at their surroundings. “So this is Lusankya.”

Tycho tries to imagine what it must look like to him. Simple stone walls and floors, work areas and barracks and latrines separated by low walls. Everything upside down and covered in tangled rubbish, not yet cleaned from when gravity was lost along with the atmosphere. It'll look dirty and downtrodden and depressing and desolate, as it does, as it always did, but Wedge won't have the emotions Tycho can feel rising inexorably in the back of his brain to add context.

Tycho swallows and nods. “This is where she kept me. For three months of my life.” He draws a breath – too short this time – struggles for a moment to right himself.

Wedge looks at him in concern. “We can leave.”

“No. I'm...I'm okay.”

Wedge's face has the rare expression where he desperately wants to ask a question but is holding himself back.

“I don't know how to explain it, Wedge,” Tycho tries to answer. “I just...I want to look around. See what's left.”

“Can I come with you?” Wedge asks gently. “You don't have to go alone.”

“I'd like that.”

Wedge's arm drops from around him, and he takes his hand instead, folding their fingers together. He probably doesn't even know how much strength Tycho draws from the simple contact.

Another moment, and Tycho moves, picking his way slowly forward. The prison is upside down, as Corran had said, a clever way of keeping prisoners from escaping, and it makes navigating it now tricky.

Still, it only takes a minute or two for them to make it down a short corridor to another large room. Tycho isn't completely certain what he'll find, but he follows an instinct, memory that isn't quite all there. The room is filled with tangled wooden remains, slender beams smashed and cracked and laying in piles. Beds, Tycho realizes.

“Barracks?” Wedge ventures, having come to the same conclusion.

Tycho nods slowly.

Then, a flash of memory. Himself, sitting huddled against the wall by the door, head buried in his arms as he cried. He had been so scared and defeated, certain he was going to die. The emotions rise in his chest now, aching, so very clear.

“Tycho?” Wedge asks, voice rising a little in concern, but Tycho barely hears.

He keeps staring at the spot. There's more to the memory, if he can just...

There. A hand reaching out, landing on his arm. His past self swimming up out of the cloud of fear and pain, looking up at the kind-faced man who called his name. Jan. Jan Dodonna, as he knows now. Jan had been so kind to him.

Tycho shakes his head, easing away the image, and squeezes Wedge's hand. “A memory,” he explains, and Wedge seems to understand his desire not to talk about it.

They keep walking. Tycho has few solid visual memories of the place – everything is a kind of visceral emotional sense memory – but his feet seem to know where to go. Now and then, he murmurs a word or two to Wedge, brief explanations of what he's thinking or seeing, but neither of them say much.

Eventually, they stop near the main exit again. Tycho can feel everything coming to a head in the back of his mind. It's been building since he first stepped back in here alone, and now he can feel his pulse hammering in his throat, anxiety scratching at his brain.

“Hey.” Wedge squeezes his hand. He's picked up on the signs, too, but he's trying to be diplomatic about it. “If you're ready to get out of here, we do have a wedding to plan.”

Tycho smiles, and it bleeds off a little of the tension. “That sounds good.” He lets Wedge lead him away toward the promise of much happier memories. If he never returns to the prison Lusankya again, he thinks, it will be too soon.

In a few days, Corran will ask him to come back with him. He won't explain, but Tycho will understand. The strange draw to return of his own volition and to have support at his side as he does so is something he understands. Of course he'll say yes.


	6. Growing Pains

The months taken to train the new Thyferran Aerospace Defense Force are a welcome relief, time spent focusing on teaching rather than fighting, in the interests of keeping the newly New Republic-aligned world free from further conquest.

Tycho has always enjoyed teaching. There's little to rival the spark in a student's eye when they suddenly grasp something he's been trying to explain or when they finally execute a maneuver they've been practicing perfectly. He thinks sometimes this is what he might like to do when age forces him out of the cockpit himself.

These Thyferran pilots are different, though. Unlike the reformed Rogues, unlike anyone before them, they've all heard of Tycho. They all watched his trial on the HoloNet news, they all know his story. Alderaan, Lusankya, most hated man in the New Republic, last minute vindication...

It shows in the way they look at him sometimes, a sort of pity that rankles. He'll catch a group of two or three of them whispering and watching him, and when they see him looking, they'll quickly move on.

He does his best to ignore it, to turn his gaze away or keep walking when it happens, but sometimes it's not that easy. One day, maybe three or four weeks into their stay on Thyferra, he's eating lunch alone in the base's cafeteria when someone sits down across from him.

It's a young woman, one of the pilots he's been working with, of middling skill in the cockpit but a hard worker. She looks nervous as she sits gazing at him for a moment before she speaks. “Captain Celchu,” she says, “I just wanted to say I really appreciate what you're doing. What all of Rogue Squadron is doing, I guess, but you especially.” She takes a breath and pushes on, “I mean, I watched all the coverage of your trial and everything, all that stuff you went through.” She looks at him with big, sympathetic eyes. “I don't know that I could've gone on after that. But here you are still fighting and teaching and helping, and that's just great, you know? I've learned a lot from listening to you, and everyone else has too, and I know that's going to help us. Okay, um, yeah, I just wanted to say that.” She flashes him a quick smile then is gone before he can react.

Tycho watches her go, that familiar frustration rising in his gut. He knows she meant well. He knows she was nervous, could see how much it took her to say all of it. It's possible she was even coming on to him. But none of it stops him from balking at her words.

Yes, he's lived a life. Yes, he's been through things that were hard, harder than what a lot of other people have gone through. Yes, it's all still affecting him now, but that doesn't mean he's incapable or unwilling to keep living and doing his job. He has half a mind to stop her the next time they have a session and explain, but he's sure she doesn't want to hear it. And he doesn't want to make her even more uncomfortable around him.

Instead, he heaves a sigh and forces himself to let it go. He makes himself finish his food, shifting his mind back over to the training and what he'll be doing for the rest of the day.

 

That same night, he's reclining on his bed planning simulations in his head as Wedge sits at the desk working on a report. The quiet between them is familiar and comfortable, broken only by the soft sound of Wedge's fingers against the datapad's screen.

Until he turns to look at Tycho and speaks. “I've been thinking.”

Tycho sits up at his tone. Bright, excited. “About what?”

“Remember what I said after our guys took this planet, about how helpful it would be to have a fighter squadron with more commando training to engage in that sort of thing?”

“I remember.” Tycho doesn't like the feeling suddenly rising in his gut.

“I want to try it,” Wedge says. “When we're done here, of course. With Admiral Ackbar's approval, I'd form a new squadron, with pilots whose skill sets also lean more towards infiltration.”

“You'd leave the Rogues?”

“Only temporarily.” Wedge smiles. “And I'd leave them in good hands. With you, if you're comfortable with it.”

“Comfortable with it?” Tycho repeats, the feeling in his gut blooming icily.

“Sure,” Wedge says, frowning as he seems to notice Tycho's reaction. “Leading a squadron isn't the easiest thing. It's not for everyone. You could say no.”

“Why would I do that?”

Wedge makes a face at him. “Come on, Tycho. First of all, I never asked if this was something you wanted, so it doesn't seem fair to automatically assume you would.”

“And second?” Tycho presses, gritting his teeth.

Wedge's frown deepens. “There's everything else. All the trauma you've been through these last few years. Your anxiety. I want to make sure it's not too much for you.”

Tycho pushes himself off the bed and begins to pace, shaking his head irritably. “So that's it. You're thinking it too.”

“Thinking what? Tycho, hey-” Wedge tries to catch his arm as he passes, but Tycho shakes him off and whirls, staring him down.

“You don't think I can do it. 'Poor Tycho, he's so traumatized he's incapable of being a teacher or a leader or anything else.' Is that it? All I am is some kind of sob story now?”

He watches the shock of the words flow over Wedge's face, the way his eyes blaze. “Of course not! What's brought this on?”

Tycho swallows hard. He can feel how tense his throat is. Tense and anxious. “Tell me it's not true.”

“Of course it's not.” Wedge's face twists as he stands, taking a step toward him. Tycho doesn't move away, but he doesn't move to meet him either. “Of course it's not,” Wedge says again when he's within reach, and he touches Tycho's arm hesitantly. “I don't know where this came from, but of course that's not what I think. Tycho...”

Tycho looks away, and there's guilt inside him now, too, next to everything else. He's just making the situation worse.

“Hey.” Wedge touches his cheek, guides him back to meet his gaze, and there's such earnestness in his brown eyes, Tycho finds himself unable to look away. “Tycho, I know you can do anything. You can survive anything. You've got this thing inside you that makes everything so hard, but you fight it. You lost your entire planet, but you kept fighting. Isard tried to break you, and you kept fighting. Then the eyes of the entire galaxy were on you, and you never crumbled. Tycho,” he says again, as intent as Tycho has ever seen him. “I'm not exaggerating when I say you're the strongest person I know.”

Tycho sighs shakily, and his shoulders slump. “That means a lot,” he admits. “It really does. I just...don't want any of that to define me. You understand?”

“I understand,” Wedge says. He squeezes Tycho's arm. “It's all a part of you, but there's so much more. You're a warrior and one of the most skilled pilots I've ever met. You're patient and smart. You don't get to show it often, but you're a philosopher Alderaan would be proud of.” He smiles softly, a question mark in it like he wonders if this is actually helping, but goes on. “You're determined and committed. You never let anything stop you.” His expression turns a little wry. “And you're not afraid to put me in my place when I'm not treating you the way you deserve.”

Tycho chuckles, soft and a little wet. “I love you. Let that be something that defines me.”

“And being loved by me.” Wedge leans in for a light kiss. “I am sorry.”

Tycho shakes his head. “You were trying to help. I jumped to conclusions.” He sighs. “I had a run-in with one of the Thyferran pilots today with a similar drive.”

“I understand. Still, I could've phrased it a different way. I never want you to think I don't believe in you or trust you.”

“I know you do. Maybe it's more of a me thing.”

Wedge squeezes his hand. “If it's trouble believing in yourself, you've got me for that, too. I can do it for both of us.”

“Yeah.” Fondness suffuses Tycho's chest, coming out on his face as another smile. He sits back on the edge of the bed, tugging Wedge down next to him. “What you said wasn't wrong, though,” he admits. “If I became squadron leader, it would be a lot more pressure. It would change things for me, and that might kick the anxiety up a notch. And I can't lie, not having you around would make coping with that harder.”

“I understand. Is that a no then? I don't want to rush your decision, Tycho, but if this is something I'm really going to do, plans need to be made as soon as possible.”

“I know that. And, no, it's not a no.” Tycho chews his lip thoughtfully. “You're just ready to hand the reins of Rogue Squadron over to me almost without question. That's not something to be turned down easily.”

“Sure would look nice on your record,” Wedge comments lightly.

Tycho smiles. “Sure would. Let me think about it, okay? Just for a day or two?”

“Of course. It's a big decision.”

“Yeah.” Tycho is already thinking about it, though, imaging himself as Rogue Leader, making all the decisions and taking all the responsibility. It's a thrill and a sort of dread all in one, and he's not sure which is more powerful.

 

In the end, he agrees. It's too great an opportunity to pass up. And, even if Tycho knows himself well enough to anticipate his possible difficulties, he also knows he can do this. Wedge wasn't wrong when he pointed out his stubbornness and refusal to give up.

A few weeks later, he's standing in the hanger of _Home One_ about to see Wedge off to Folor where he'll be collecting and training pilot candidates for the new squadron.

“I've always hated saying goodbye to you,” Wedge says, flight helmet tucked under one arm as he steps in close to Tycho.

“We'll see each other again soon. We always do.” Tycho smiles. It's a sort of relief to see Wedge showing not too much concern for him but merely the usual bittersweetness of parting. He cups Wedge's cheek and kisses him. “Be safe. Fly well.”

“And you.” Wedge darts in for another peck. “May the Force-”

A voice rings out from across the hangar. “If you two are about done?”

Tycho chuckles and steps away as Wes and Hobbie approach. “You signed your own death warrant by taking him on as your XO, Wedge.”

Wes just rolls his eyes as he claps Wedge on the shoulder. “Someone's gotta keep the Commander here young.”

“Just so. I know you'll take good care of him.”

“Oh, yes.” There's mischief sparkling in Wes's eyes, and Tycho laughs again, just imagining all the pranks he already has to be planning.

“You really should get going,” Hobbie puts in. “You don't want your pilots arriving before you do.”

Wes's face melts into an exaggerated frown. “Trying to get rid of me as fast as you can, huh? And here I thought you would miss me.”

“I think Wedge will enjoy dealing with you for awhile,” Hobbie says sweetly.

Wes mock-glares at him, then he's across the hangar again, scrambling up the ladder to his X-wing's cockpit. “Come _on,_ Wedge, let's go! See you around, Tycho!”

Tycho throws him a wave and gives Wedge one last hug before standing back with Hobbie to watch the two X-wings take off.

 

Things get busy fast, and though it's spread between Tycho, Hobbie as his second in command, and Nawara as his executive officer, there's still a lot of work to be done. The squadron is a pilot down after Aril's transfer to Fleet Command, and that spot needs to be filled as soon as possible. Equipment still needs repair or replacement from the battle with _Lusankya_ over Coruscant. Plans need to be finalized for their move to the _Mon Remonda_. Along with all the normal day-to-day responsibilities of an active-duty fighter squadron.

Somehow, they make it to their new home among the Solo fleet going after Warlord Zsinj. A few minor bumps – botched rooming assignments, not having initially been assigned enough berths for their ships – but they make it through.

Everything should be coming together at this point. The Rogues have accepted Tycho as their leader, not that that took much. He, Hobbie, and Nawara have figured out the balance of duties between them. They're settled and ready to begin flying missions for Solo.

Yet here Tycho is, seated in his new office, looking over a desk full of datawork, anxiety snarling in his chest. He drops his head into his hands, concentrating on a slow breath in and out. _Everything is fine_ , he tells himself. _I'm fine._ He reaches for one of the mantras Dr. Aschansa taught him, breathes again as he focuses on it. _Every breath I take calms me._ Breathe in, breathe out. _Every breath I exhale takes away tension._ It helps a little.

The door bangs open, and Tycho flinches as he looks up to find his XO standing there.

Hobbie has stopped with his mouth half open, caught in the midst of whatever he was about to say. “Hey, are you okay?” he asks instead, brow furrowing with concern.

“Bad anxiety day,” Tycho tells him.

“Still have those, huh?” Hobbie steps further into the room, letting the door swing closed behind him.

Tycho manages a little smile, self-deprecating and strained. “Especially lately. It tends to flare up when there's big life changes and new situations I need to get used to.”

Hobbie winces in sympathy. “Like being in command of a squadron for the first time?”

“Like that, yeah. I know everything's going just fine, but...” Tycho waves a hand at himself. “The old brain doesn't always agree.”

“If you need more help, you only have to say so, you know.” Hobbie stops in front of his desk, taking in the datapads and flimsiplast printouts spread there. “Nawara and I are here. If you need us to take on some more from you until you have your feet under you, we can.”

“I appreciate that, I really do. I don't want to abuse your kindness either. I'll be fine.”

Hobbie gives him a look that clearly says _will you?_ It's an all-too-familiar expression, and Tycho sighs. “Wedge told you to keep an eye on me, didn't he?”

“It's not that he doesn't trust you,” is Hobbie's instant response, but Tycho is sure Wedge told him to say that, too. “He's worried about _you_ , not your ability to lead.”

“I know.” Tycho sighs again. As much as he appreciates the concern, he wishes he wasn't proving those worries valid. He also wishes Wedge were here with him, but then the whole issue would be moot, and that's not worth fixating on anyway. “I really will be. I just need time to get into the new swing of things. I'll try to take it easy until then, but I didn't accept the position of squad leader to slack off.”

Hobbie grins at him. “You're one of the last people I would ever accuse of slacking off, Tycho. You looked like you were about to lose it when I came in, and you're still here doing your duty. What are you working on, anyway?”

Tycho glances back down at the desk, a sort of exhaustion flowing over him at the stacks of work. “Going over the missions Solo's group has been running before we arrived, looking for relevant information, patterns, that sort of thing. Give us something to go on and use to prepare for potential future runs.”

“I can be doing that,” Hobbie says immediately. He starts gathering up the materials. “I'll have summaries for you in a day or two, lists of correlations, and whatever else I find that might be helpful.”

Tycho stops himself from protesting. “Thank you.”

“It's not a problem.” Hobbie fixes him with a look that holds understanding. “That's one of the things about being in command: you have to learn to delegate. It took me awhile to get a knack for it, too. Is there anything else you need before I go?”

Hobbie straightens, the work Tycho had been at gathered in his arms to take away, and Tycho feels a sense of relief. “You must have needed something from me to come in here originally. Unless you were just checking up.”

“I did, but it's not a big deal. Honestly, it's something I could've handled on my own, but I was going to double check. No need for you to worry about it.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely.” Hobbie shifts his armful as he moves back toward the door. “I need to touch base with Nawara. You should get some rest or something, boss.”

Tycho thinks of the calming quiet of his quarters, of closing his eyes and letting his responsibilities lie for just an hour or two. “Maybe.”

Then Hobbie is gone and he's alone again. The anxiety hasn't disappeared – as soon as he dares name it in his mind again, he can feel it eating at him. But with the removal of one of the metaphorical plates he's balancing, it has retreated somewhat.

Until the door opens again and it spikes, like cymbals in the back of his head, as Corran Horn blows in like a whirlwind, immediately starting in with, “Tycho, we need to talk.”

Tycho breathes, tries to force calm. “Now's not really a good time, Corran.”

Corran glances around the room, frowns at the empty desk, then up at Tycho. “You don't look busy. I'll be quick: Why are we here where there are already plenty of people on the hunt for Zsinj when Iceheart's prisoners are still out there? We should be concentrating on looking for them. I made them a promise. I thought you'd understand. I thought you'd be just as intent on getting them free.”

Tycho grits his teeth. “Don't accuse me of not caring, Corran. Intelligence has next to no information on where they might be. We can't exactly just go looking for them. It's a big galaxy.”

Corran's hands coming down on the edge of the desk sound unusually loud in Tycho's ears, though he thinks he manages to keep from flinching.

“We should be doing _something_ ,” the Corellian insists. “Just waiting around isn't helping them.”

“I know.” Tycho has been trying not to concentrate on this particular issue too much, knowing he's helpless to do anything about it. The thought of Jan and the rest of the prisoners still out there somewhere, maybe still being tortured by Isard's successor, maybe on the cusp of becoming the weapons she wanted them to be, is a painful one. And though he fully believes the Rogues are needed here where Command has assigned them, it's not like he wouldn't rather be tracking down all possible information on the prisoners and bringing them home. “I don't know what to tell you, Corran.”

Tycho runs a hand over his face, feels it shake a little. Corran catches the movement and seems to falter.

“Is something wrong?” he asks.

“No. Just my anxiety acting up.” Tycho holds up the hand for a moment, watching the way it trembles, then curls it into a fist and lets it fall to his lap. “Trust me, it's not that I'm not thinking of them.”

Corran sighs and seats himself in one of the chairs in front of Tycho's desk. “Sorry. It just kills me not being able to do anything.”

“I know how you feel.”

Corran half-smiles at him. “I never really apologized for everything I did to you back in the day.”

“You did. It's in the past, Corran.”

“I know, but it eats at me how much I didn't know what I was saying and what I was doing to you.” Corran makes a frustrated sound. “I was only acting on the information I had, but hindsight is everything. You were always innocent, and I harangued you so much. I made your life hell. You might never have gone to trial if they didn't have my accusations to lay beside everything else. And of course I didn't know about your issues then, and that must have made everything harder. Just – I'm sorry.”

It doesn't really fix anything. It doesn't take away the sleepless nights, the worry, or the time he spent under the microscope of the entire galaxy, but it's something. “I'm not holding it against you, Corran,” Tycho tells him. “It wasn't fun, no, but I understand where you were coming from. We've moved past it.” He manages a smile. “I'd even dare to call us friends at this point.”

Corran smiles back. “I would do the same.” He stands. “I should've listened when you said this was a bad time. You going to be okay?”

Tycho nods. “I was just heading off to take a break.”

“Okay, I'll get out of your hair then.”

“Corran?”

Corran turns back.

“I am monitoring the situation. It is every bit as important to me as it is to you; I want you to know that. The moment I know anything, so will you.”

“Thank you, Tycho.”

Then he's out the door, and Tycho lets out a breath of relief. He takes another moment or two to gather himself, then locks his office and heads back to his quarters, the promise of quiet and solitude a siren song.

 

Things do get better, as Tycho had known they would. As the days go by, the anxiety falls away to a more manageable level. He and the Rogues settle into their place in the machine of Solo's fleet. He hears updates from Wedge on the progression of the new squadron, recently dubbed the Wraiths.

It sounds like Wedge is having his share of hard times as well, the group of last-chance pilots he's assembled giving him difficulties he'd never anticipated. But they make progress, too, and Tycho comes to delight in hearing Wedge talk about them. He's clearly proud of what he's creating.

It's not long before Tycho gets to see them in action as the Rogues fly a few missions with them. The Wraiths are impressive, their skills in the cockpit showing them as every bit one of Wedge's squadrons regardless of their relative lack of experience as a unit. They may not be up to the level of the Rogues yet, but they could get there, Tycho thinks.

Soon after, the Wraiths are officially assigned to the _Mon Remonda_ , though the undercover mission they're currently on means they won't be around much. Tycho swallows disappointment, knowing it means he won't be spending any more time with Wedge than he already has been. Even when they are on the same ship, it's never for long, their time together little more than what they need for official exchanges of military information, along with a quick kiss or two.

Finally, they manage to get a couple of hours alone together. Tycho is sitting against his headboard fidgeting with his comlink as Wedge reclines beside him finishing a few last minute duties on his datapad.

“I can't stop thinking about what you said today,” Tycho confesses to his hands. “About Zsinj testing our reactions and making us jump at every target he painted. I can't believe I didn't see it.”

“Don't dwell on it,” Wedge advises as he finishes up, putting away his datapad and looking over at Tycho. “Neither did Han, or Nova Squad's commander, or Polearm's, or any of the other pilots.”

Tycho sighs, tossing the comlink away and flopping down beside him. “I should be able to spot that sort of thing if I'm going to be a commander.”

“Guess you'll have to wait a bit longer to earn the new insignia,” Wedge teases him gently.

Tycho huffs. “Guess you're always going to be that step ahead of me.”

Wedge's brow creases. “Does it mean that much to you?”

“No. Rank is just words. I'd be doing the same thing.”

Wedge smiles. “You deserve it, you know. From what I hear, you've been doing a great job. I worried for no reason.”

“It was hard at first, but I think I've grown into it. I could never have done it without Hobbie and Nawara especially, but everyone has been wonderful. We make a great team.”

“I wouldn't expect anything less from the Rogues.”

Tycho nods. “Maybe we can not talk about work now?” He sits up, plants a hand on either side of Wedge, and leans over him. “It's been weeks since I've gotten you in private, and work discussions aren't exactly what I've been missing.”

Wedge grins and tugs him down into a kiss.

 

Too soon, Wedge is gone again, back with his new squadron to their pirate base. They continue to exchange communications, and Tycho follows the Wraith's movements almost as closely as his own squadron.

He hears from Wedge when Ton Phanan is killed, and then again a few days later when Castin Donn follows. Frustration is clear in his partner's voice, the sudden doubt that what's he's doing here is working, his efforts to keep Garik Loran afloat through the pain of losing subordinates for the first time as Wedge shepherds him toward becoming his replacement when he's ready to leave the squadron.

Tycho aches to hear it all, wishing desperately their positions didn't make live hologram communication next to impossible. He wants to see Wedge's face, to tell him in person not to give up, that what he's doing is important and that it _is_ working, despite the losses. He knows Wedge knows all that without having to be told, but he's always needed reassurance at times like this, and Tycho hates not being able to give it to him in the way he wants.

Meanwhile, the Rogues are flying mission after stressful mission of their own, some with members of the Wraiths, some with Nova and Polearm, some alone. They haven't lost any pilots since he took command, but he knows that's as much luck as skill and isn't a stat that will hold forever.

Before he can worry much more about it, though, Wedge is back, he and the Wraiths abandoning their offship base to join the Rogues on the _Mon Remonda_ permanently. Likewise, Wedge turns command of the newer squadron over to Loran and takes back the mantle of Rogue Leader.

“I hate the pull the rug out from under you,” he tells Tycho almost apologetically.

Tycho grins at him, feeling something like relief. He'd grown into the command, but he doesn't mind going back to his old spot as XO at all. “It was always your position; I was just keeping the seat warm.”

“I have a feeling you'll be back at it someday anyhow,” Wedge tells him, and Tycho finds he doesn't mind that idea either.

 

Tal'dira fires on Wedge, and Tycho feels a kind of all-consuming terror that only lasts a split second before the cool levelheadedness of battle experience reasserts itself and he puts his own ship between aggressor and victim without a second thought.

The whole scene is over in minutes, the wreckage of Tal'dira's X-wing, shredded by Corran's shot, expanding in space as Wedge's damaged fighter limps back to the ship. His voice is rough through the comm as he thanks Tycho and instructs him to lead the group down to the planet while he changes fighters.

After that, the mission itself is almost ridiculously easy – a complete success, no further losses.

Back in the hanger on the _Mon Remonda_ afterward, Wedge has just come down the ladder from his ship and is removing his gloves and helmet when Tycho comes up from behind and wraps him tight in his arms.

“Tycho,” Wedge says as he recognizes him. “I'm all right.” But his voice is shaky, and for a moment he slumps against him, exhaustion bleeding through the veneer of stoic command. None of them are really all right.

“I could've lost you,” Tycho says into his neck, pulling him impossibly closer. He knows he shouldn't be doing this here, now, that they need to see to the rest of the squadron, but he needs to be selfish for this one moment, because _it was so close._

“I'm all right,” Wedge says again, quieter, and a hand comes up to squeeze Tycho's arm.

“Sirs?” A voice interrupts, and Tycho steps back to see an aide has approached them. Solo has sent him, and he has more bad news.

 

The attack on Wedge. Another on the _Mon Remonda_ 's bridge. Another against the prisoner, Dr. Gast. An assassination attempt on Mon Mothma. A series of human-targeted alien terrorist attacks.

It's a lot to take in at once. And then there are the theories: species-based conspiracies., brainwashing by Zsinj.

Tycho suppress a shudder when he hears that last, feeling eyes on him in the joint Wraith-Rogue idea session. He doesn't think anyone can rightly blame him for being horrified by the idea. Even if he feels secretly, guiltily relieved that, being human himself, he would never be targeted.

He'd thought this was over. With Ysanne Isard gone and the prison Lusankya dismantled, he'd never imagined a campaign of this type would come up again. Yet their enemies still seem to think the best way to destroy the New Republic is to sow distrust between her human and nonhuman members, and this is the way Zsinj has chosen to do it. And by screwing with people's minds, invading and twisting comrades to turn them on their friends.

With the betrayals and losses and the stress of continued back-to-back missions, morale is at an all-time low. Everyone on the _Mon Remonda_ seems tired and burdened, resigned to carrying on because they have no other choice.

That's when Wedge stages his mutiny. He takes control of the officers' cafeteria, pulling the military-straight rows of tables and chairs out of alignment, making everyone remove their rank insignia, and setting up card games, astromech races, and other frivolous forms of diversion. It makes Tycho smile to see him so carefree, more than any of them have been in a long time, and it's impossible not to join in.

The Rogues and Wraiths, as well as their comrades in Polearm and Nova squadrons and everyone else aboard the ship, really seem to need this, and it's good to see everyone relaxed and happy, if only for a day. Even the brief relaxation seems to reset everyone enough that they can return to the battle at full strength.

Their next plan, to use the false _Millennium Falcon_ to draw out Zsinj and his forces, is a success, and it's not long before they've got the warlord where they want him. Then, just when it looks like the ambush has failed, a message from Lara Notsil, the Wraith who had fled after being revealed as a former double agent: she claims to still be on their side and that she's sabotaged the _Iron Fist_ and left it practically gift-wrapped for them.

The task force goes, and there it is, just as promised. They hardly have time to celebrate, though, before the 181st shows up and makes a move toward the supposedly-destroyed settlement on the nearby moon of Selaggis Six, and Wedge orders the Rogues and Wraiths after them.

Rain lashes Tycho's canopy, wind buffeting his X-wing as they follow the Interceptors down toward the moon's surface. Soon, he and Wedge have broken off from the pack, two enemies rising to meet them over the storm-whipped ocean. One of them must be Fel, Tycho thinks, the man Wedge is so desperate to speak to, to find out what's happened to his sister.

The skill of the pair soon proves it. Fel was touted as the best pilot in the Empire, and he certainly flies like it. Wedge and Tycho are holding their own, though – until one of their prey ends up directly in front of Tycho, exploding spectacularly.

The initial detonation doesn't damage his ship, but there's no time to evade before he's flying right through the heart of the fireball. He comes out the other side ears full of shrieking alarms, red flashing across his console, astromech crying in alarm.

Tycho curses, hands clamped on his controls. He knows he's not going to keep fighting like this, but if he can just keep the ship together long enough to get back to shore and set down...

Wedge's voice is in his ear, anxiously asking for his status.

Tycho manages to say back something of his plans, only to have Wedge insist he doesn't bother trying to save the ship, only punches out as soon as possible. The more seconds pass, the more Tycho is convinced that's his only real option. The X-wing shudders under even his most gentle instructions, clearly having taken severe damage.

Then Fel is coming around for another pass, and Wedge swoops past Tycho to engage him, fires lasers, misses-

Fel's return shots chew into the nose of Tycho's fighter, and he feels it starting to go to pieces around him. His only chance is to eject now, still half a kilometer of wild gray water between himself and land. He grits his teeth, yanks the red lever, and hopes for the best.

 

He's utterly exhausted by the time he pulls himself to shore. X-wing flight suits were never designed for swimming, and he knows he's lucky he wasn't pulled beneath the waves never to be seen again.

He doesn't have time to dwell on it, though, before he hears the whine of TIE engines through the storm, and looks up to see an Interceptor nearly in firing range. He struggles to get to his feet, wet boots slipping in the sand, and thinks, _sithspit_ , this could be it-

And then an X-wing flashes by overhead, green lasers lancing out and destroying the enemy ship before it can take a shot at him. The X-wing is dark gray, a Wraith then, but moving too quickly through the rain for him to have even half a chance of identifying the pilot. Just so, Tycho sends up a silent thanks.

He manages to get himself to his feet and under the cover of a nearby stand of trees, blaster in hand on the off chance someone should challenge him on foot, hoping the waterlogged thing still works.

Wedge will have called him in as EV as soon as he ejected; he only has to wait.

Tycho squints into the storm, anxious and impatient as he tries to spot ships still in the fight. The most he can catch is the occasional distant flash of laser fire mixing with lightning.

He tries to crush down frustration. He should still be up there. He should still be on Wedge's wing, protecting him and helping finish the mission. But there's nothing to be done for it; no amount of anger will change it. He has to trust Wedge to take of himself now.

 

It feels like hours before an evacuation shuttle shows up. The rain has stopped, though gusts of wind still whip steel-gray clouds across the sky.

The shuttle's ramp lowers, and Wedge is there to greet him, grinning like a spring morning. “What're you doing hanging out down here?” he asks. “Didn't you know there was a battle to fight?”

Tycho has to smile back, all the anxiety melting away at the sight of him. “I got tired, thought I'd take a little rest.”

Wedge expression falters just a little as Tycho climbs onto the ship, and Wedge pulls him into a hug.

“I was worried about you,” Tycho says into his ear.

“ _You_ were worried?” Wedge repeats, pulling back to look at him dubiously. “If I could order you never to be shot down again in my sight, I would!”

“Well, you're no fun.” But Tycho is squeezing his arm, a silent reassurance of _I'm still here._ “So you came to greet me so kindly. Things must have worked out okay up there.”

Wedge's smile returns as the shuttle lifts off. “ _Iron First_ is gone, Zsinj is on the run, and the Rogues and Wraiths are all accounted for. The task force isn't without losses, but we had a pretty good showing if I say so myself.”

“Sounds like a good excuse for one of your famous squadron parties.”

“I shudder to think of what these two squadrons could get up to together at an event like that.”

Tycho raises an eyebrow. “Too scared to find out?”

“Absolutely not!”


	7. Ghosts

“You know,” Wedge says with a smirk as he comes up behind Tycho where he stands at the mirror, “for someone who's claimed not to care about rank, you sure have been admiring that new insignia for awhile.”

Tycho can't help his smile as he looks from his partner's face to the four shining pips of Colonel on his own chest. “It's been awhile since I've had a promotion,” he says easily. “Feels nice.”

“You've more than earned it.” Wedge's arms thread around his waist, his chin settling on Tycho's shoulder. “In truth, you should've had it a long time ago.”

Tycho thinks of the last few years, of the battles again Zsinj and Thrawn and everything in between. He certainly won't argue that he didn't put in the work, that any of them didn't.

He turns in Wedge's arms, grinning as he runs a finger across Wedge's own new rank. “Speak for yourself, General.”

Wedge makes a face. “I wish everyone would stop making such a big deal out of it. I only took the promotion because Ackbar backed me into a corner.”

“You would have eventually anyway,” Tycho tells him, “so now's as good a time as any. And with the mission he wants to put us on...”

“Not now,” Wedge interrupts. “Party first, work later.”

“Of course,” Tycho agrees indulgently. Mirax and Emtrey have put a little something together to welcome the Rogues back to Coruscant after their part in defeating Thrawn, and it's due to start any minute. “Should we head down?”

They do and find the base rec room already full of people. The entire squadron is there plus their support staff and a small collection of outside significant others as well a few higher-ups from Starfighter Command who have come to visit.

Wedge and Tycho make the rounds, politely greeting everyone and making a bit of small talk. Eventually, music starts up from one corner of the room, and Tycho catches Wedge's arm as they step away from a conversation with General Salm.

“Dance with me,” he says, not quite a question, tugging him toward a space that's been cleared for that purpose and is starting to fill with other couples.

Wedge chuckles self-consciously but allows himself to be led. “You know I have two left feet.”

“You'll manage.”

Tycho finds them a spot and pulls Wedge in, helping him get into a decent starting pose, one hand on Tycho's hip, the other holding his hand, and mirroring the position himself. The song isn't an especially slow one – the party has just started, after all – but Wedge still seems to do all right once he lets himself go, improvising steps that Tycho mimics and only tripping over his own feet once or twice.

Tycho is in the middle of a good-natured laugh at one such incident when there's a scream from the other side of the room that brings everyone up short. Wedge is out of his arms and moving almost before he can process it, then he takes off after him.

There's a body on the floor, quickly being surrounded by horrified onlookers. An older man, bearded, eyes wide open and stained with the same blood that pools around him. Corran kneels by the stranger's side, shock and grief on his face.

“What happened?” Wedge asks while Tycho's mouth is still hanging open.

Corran's voice is soft and ragged as he identifies the man: Urlor Sette, a fellow prisoner from the _Lusankya_. Tycho's gut grows cold. Sette said he had a message, Corran goes on. One that's surely been received and could only have been sent by one person.

Tycho exchanges a look with Wedge, hoping against hope that this isn't what he's suddenly so afraid it might be.

 

The incident sends everyone into a frenzy. The leads on the Lusankya prisoners for the last two years have been few and far between, every one the Rogues followed ending in nothing but disappointment and frustration, but now they have something to go on. The pieces in the device that killed Sette are broken apart and traced, the process that would have been used to implant it factored in, and soon they have a target: Commenor, a Xenovet research facility.

Corran is more eager than anything of them, and Tycho understands completely. Sette may have been chosen as bait for Rogue Squadron and specifically to hurt Corran, but he feels it, too. The prisoners they've yet failed to save are still out there. Sette is dead because they didn't move fast enough, didn't try hard enough. That stops now. Tycho isn't going to let anything like this happen again, and he knows he has the rest of the squadron behind him.

The time comes, and they take the facility with relative ease. Wedge lands to check the place out, and after assigning the rest of the squadron to air cover and guiding the transport in to evacuate any prisoners, Tycho follows.

He's nearly reached the barn that dominates the area when Wedge emerges, looking startled to see him. He plants a hand on Tycho's chest and says, “You don't need to go in there.”

Tycho feels a chill sweep through him. “Why not?”

“The commandos are taking care of everything.”

Not liking the sound of this, Wedge's refusal to actually answer his question, Tycho brushes him aside and marches toward the barn.

Wedge follows. “Tycho-”

“Stop trying to protect me, Wedge,” Tycho snaps, anger a cover for his sudden dread.

He steps inside the building – and winces immediately. It's the smell that hits him worst, human waste and unwashed bodies. Then the sights and sounds filter in: crying and moaning, people shambling around like lost things, dangerously skinny and matted with filth. Some lay on the ground, not moving at all.

Tycho struggles to catch his breath, starting when Wedge's hand lands on his shoulder.

“They were left here to die,” Tycho realizes numbly.

“We've always known there were evil people doing this.” Wedge's voice is solemn. “I spoke to one of them. He said Isard was here.”

“What?” Tycho can't control the way his voice rises.

“It's not necessarily true. Look at them, Tycho. They can't be in their right minds. It's been two years since Thyferra. If she had somehow survived, don't you think we would have encountered her before now?”

Tycho shakes his head slowly, trying to think through the horrific sight in front of him. He wants to believe Wedge, but there _are_ reasons, good ones, that Isard might have lain dormant for so long.

“It doesn't matter right now,” Tycho says, and his voice is mostly steady. “We need to help them. And we need to find the others – _now_.” He takes a breath, looks back at Wedge. “If you want to go back up and rejoin the Rogues, I need to stay here and help.”

Wedge just nods, squeezing his arm before heading back outside. Tycho takes a deep breath to calm himself, just managing not to gag on the stench, and turns to the nearest commando for instructions.

 

Tycho is more than ready when orders come down that Rogue Squadron will be assisting in the mission to take Liinade III, the first step in the goal of crumbling the self-styled Prince-Admiral Delak Krennel's Ciutric Hegemony. Tycho is tired of feeling helpless, of spending every spare moment imaging the suffering of the Lusankya prisoners still out there somewhere, and it's good to be in his cockpit taking shots, destroying TIEs, _doing_ something.

Everything seems to going to plan, the New Republic forces reaching the planet with relatively little difficulty, and then things start to get dicey. Corran discovers a secret research facility and unearths plans for what they take to calling the Pulsar Station.

A new Death Star. Just thinking about it drives an icy dagger through Tycho's heart, and he can see it on Wedge's face and Hobbie's and Wes's as well. The others are horrified, of course, but they never saw the weapon's predecessors with their own eyes. They can't _know_.

It could be some sort of trap. They know that, but they can't just let it lie, either, because if it's not- The results aren't even worth thinking about.

They have to find the shipyard where the thing is being built. The surrounding system is analyzed, each planet and moon, and soon they've got potential hit.

Distna is a hollow moon of Corvis Minor V, possibly being used as a dry dock or even having the Pulsar Station built directly into it. Either way, Rogue Squadron's mission is simple: fly in covering Nrin's snoopscoot, get sensor readings and holo footage to prove the thing exists, and jump out.

The problem is, they have no idea what they might be facing as far as defenses. Together Wedge and Tycho work up a wide variety of sims. The Rogues do their best in all of them, and they mostly succeed, falling within the acceptable loss parameters Command has set out for them that they all hate so much.

They get in as much practice as they can, shore up their survival rates as far as seems possible, but in the end, none of them is going to refuse to fly the mission. That station could be out there, and they have to find it.

 

None of the simulations could have prepared them for the ambush, and when Interloper and Stranger squadrons appear out of nowhere to save the Rogues and shepherd them away, it feels like a miracle.

But not enough of one. Ever since they touched down on this base and the pilots were shuffled into this hanger to wait while Wedge and Colonel Vessery went off to their mysterious meeting, Tycho has been sitting with an arm around a sobbing Hobbie as he fights to keep his own grief under control.

Tycho knows it will sink in eventually that their friend is gone, but for now it just feels like a wall of pained shock and denial. He feels the losses of Asyr and Lyyr and Khe-Jeen, too, of course, but Wes is different. Wes was one of the original Rogues; it had been he and Wedge and Hobbie and Tycho since just after Yavin. They all knew better than anyone that no pilot was invincible, but after years of close calls with none of them falling, it had started to feel like they were charmed.

No more. Tycho is never going to see Wes's smiling face again or laugh as Wedge rolls his eyes at one of his stupid jokes. This war has taken so much from him over the years, but it hasn't hurt this much for a long time.

“Tycho?”

He blinks away encroaching tears and looks up at Wedge's voice, sees him standing there with Corran by his side. The expression on Wedge's face is one Tycho is familiar with: torn between the call of duty and giving his people the time they need to deal with loss.

“I need you to come with me. I'm sorry, Hobbie.”

Hobbie nods shakily and hunches in on himself impossibly further, mumbling something patently unbelievable about how he'll be okay. Tycho gives him one last squeeze and stands.

Wedge leads he and Corran to a quiet corner of the hanger before turning to look at them, hands posted on his hips and a strange look in his eyes. “I'm going to tell the entire squadron this in a moment,” he begins, “but I wanted you two to be the first to know.”

Tycho and Corran glance at each other cautiously, then back at Wedge.

Wedge sighs. “Our suspicions were right. Ysanne Isard is alive. I've seen her.”

Corran swears under his breath, and Tycho tries not to flinch.

It only gets worse from there. “She cloned herself back on Thyferra, and that clone is now working with Krennel. The original Isard is here – this is her base.”

Tycho clenches his fists at his sides as they threaten to start shaking. Isard, _here_. Lusankya's builder, his torturer, his own personal demon. He hasn't been this close to her since...

“What does that mean?” he cuts off the thought.

Wedge lets out a breath. “She figured out the clone's plan to ambush us and sent Vessery and his people. She has a plan to train Rogue Squadron on the TIE Defenders and get us hired by Krennel in order to turn and topple him and Ciutric from the inside. Similar to what the Wraiths and I pulled with Zsinj. At the same time, we would be freeing the remaining Lusankya prisoners the clone has gathered in a prison complex there.”

“Why would Iceheart help us?” Corran wants to know.

“Her claim is that she gives the New Republic Krennel in exchange for being left alone to slither off in peace now that she knows her campaign to bring back the Empire is dead,” Wedge answers acidly. “Clearly she has ulterior motives, but if we stay on our toes and do our best to anticipate the certain betrayal at the end, this seems like the best plan we're going to get. And unfortunately we're under her control for the moment, so we don't have much choice in the matter.”

Tycho nods slowly, his stomach twisting itself into knots. Being on the same base as Isard. Working for her. She's close at this very minute; Wedge has just come from meeting with her. The very thought makes Tycho's skin crawl.

“I'll answer more questions for the whole squadron,” Wedge goes on, “but with your...past experiences, I wanted you two to have a heads up.” He looks first at Corran, then to Tycho, gaze penetrating. “Is this going to be a problem?”

“No, sir,” the two of them answer at once.

“I don't like it any more than you, but we've played her games before and come out on top,” Corran adds. “We can do it again.”

Tycho swallows, steadying himself. “We'll follow your lead, Wedge.”

“Good.” He's still looking at Tycho, concern there, and Tycho gives him a little nod. “Let's go break it to the others, then.”

 

At least their new tentative allies are merciful and don't begin the training that day. Instead the exhausted and heartsick pilots of Rogue Squadron are allowed a short time to discuss, then led to a mess and served a filling if bland meal before being shown to their quarters.

Tycho follows Wedge into his room without hesitation. “It doesn't matter if they know we're together; they already having enough hanging over our heads.”

Wedge doesn't argue. He simply stands in the middle of the room for a long moment as if lost, then sighs heavily and runs a hand over his face. “I should go check on everyone.”

“Stay.” Tycho catches his hand before he can move. Wedge isn't wrong, but Tycho wants him beside him, at least for another moment. He feels so shaky knowing Isard is back, is right here with them, an anxiety he knows he can't afford to be distracted by in this situation. That door he thought closed for years is now violently thrown open. And he's grieving as much as any of the rest of them.

“I know,” Wedge says softy, as if Tycho had spoken the words aloud. His arms curl around Tycho and hold him close. “I'm here.”

Tycho lets out a trembling breath. “I can't believe they're all gone.”

Wedge shakes his head slowly. “They deserved better than to go out like that. You all deserve better than me leading you into an ambush.”

“Wedge, this isn't your fault.”

He sighs again and drops his head against Tycho's shoulder. “I know. I just hate losing people.”

Tycho tightens his arms around his partner, offering as much wordless comfort as he can. He wishes it was within his power to keep Wedge from ever losing anyone again, be it pilots under his command or old friends.

“I really should go,” Wedge says quietly after while. “They're my responsibility, too, and I'll just worry if I don't.”

“I understand.” Tycho drops a kiss to his cheek and steps back. “Go. Last I saw, Corran was still with Gavin. I'm going to find Hobbie. I'll see you later?”

Wedge nods, and with a last press of hands for strength, they part.

 

The grief passes – or, rather, is shoved forcibly aside – quickly. They can't let themselves be distracted by it, and they all know it. Even if they weren't expecting a betrayal at any moment, there's still the TIE Defenders to learn, the infiltration and attack on Ciutric to plan.

Day after day, the Rogues are in the simulators with Colonel Vessery and his squadrons. Tycho takes to the Defender the easiest of all of them, having so much prior experience with Imperial craft, though Wedge and the others aren't far behind.

It's strange how quickly routines form. Breakfast, morning simulator runs, lunch, afternoon tactical/evaluation meetings, more simulator runs, dinner, sleep. It feels almost like his days back in the Academy so many years ago.

One morning, Tycho is sitting at breakfast by himself, Wedge having gone off early to speak to Vessery about something, when a shadow falls over him. He looks up – right into the mismatched eyes of Ysanne Isard.

“Mind if I join you?” she asks smoothly as she seats herself across from him, setting down her tray and casually opening a carton of blue milk to pour over her cereal.

Tycho's own food goes ashen in his mouth.

She looks at him. “Captain Celchu. It has been awhile.”

“Actually, it's Colonel now,” he says automatically.

“Ah, a promotion. Congratulations are in order, then.”

He can't find it in himself to thank her. His heart is racing in his chest, and he can feel his hands starting to tremble where he's hidden them beneath the table. His own visceral reaction to being so close to her shocks him, and he can't begin to control it. He casts his eyes about the mess looking for Wedge, but he's nowhere to be seen.

Isard continues to watch him, cool and appraising. “Colonel, you know I didn't arrange for you and your squadron to be saved at Distna just to do you harm here.”

Tycho's teeth clamp together. “You'll forgive me if past experiences have me somewhat wary of you,” he manages.

“I thought you would be more grateful,” Isard says, raising a spoonful of cereal to her mouth. “The location of my Lusankya prisoners is something you've wanted for a long time, is it not?”

Tycho bristles, clenching his hands into fists. “Of course it is. If you ask me, their rescue is almost more important than Krennel's fall, objectivity be damned.”

Isard actually grins at that. “There's your fighting spirit. Seems I didn't entirely beat it out of you after all.”

Anger and disgust mingle with the gut-deep fear, clogging Tycho's throat. That's when he spots Wedge and Vessery entering the room together.

Isard follows his gaze. “Ah. Do excuse me. I must speak to my own Colonel about important matters.”

The she's gone as soon as she appeared, and Wedge is taking her place, concern written all over his face. “What did she want?” he asks, and Tycho can hear the the demand, his own fury at her, through the veneer of gentleness.

Tycho shakes his head. “I'm not even sure. Could be she was just messing with me.” He looks down at his tray, still more than half full, and pushes it at Wedge. “You can finish this if you want; I'm certainly not going to.”

Wedge touches his hand, just for a moment, eyes blazing. “We're going to be out of here soon,” he promises. “We'll get Krennel, we'll free the Hegemony, and you'll never have to see her again.”

“None of us will,” Tycho agrees, wishing the thought of the New Republic setting her free as part of the deal made him feel any better.

 

Their transfer of service from Isard to their undercover position with Krennel goes off without a hitch, and Tycho doesn't remember the last time he was so eager to leave a place, relief filling his bones with each parsec he puts between himself and Isard's base.

They keep training, this time with the rest of the Hegemony forces, and he knows the other Rogues are as antsy as himself as the time to attack draws near.

Then it comes, and they're suddenly swarming down on Ciutric, determination burning hot in his gut. This is a complicated operation with lots of moving parts, but Tycho only focuses on his own: the prisoners. As Wedge steers his flight group toward the shield generator that will leave the planet open to their forces, Tycho leads his toward the prison. It comes into view quickly, a long, low ferrocrete building flanked by three smaller structures, likely guard barracks, all surrounded by a tall, thick wall bristling with weapons emplacements.

Emplacements Two Flight's lasers make short work of. The ground still swarms with guards, though, and the sight makes Tycho's throat tighten. New Republic reinforcements haven't arrived yet, and neither have the commandos Isard promised, not that they ever truly counted on them being there. With no one to stop them, those guards could do anything to the prisoners before they had a chance of being liberated.

Corran is obviously thinking along the same lines. “I'm going in.”

“Nine, you can't,” is Tycho's immediate response. Without backup, there's not much good he can do against those kinds of enemy in that number, regardless of the passion with which he would fight them.

“Colonel, I have to. Isard’s people are late or aren’t coming. Someone’s got to go in.”

Tycho grits his teeth, thinking fast. Corran isn't wrong. If they sit on their hands up here, they could lose their last chance to free these people. What Tycho wants to say is _I'll go_ , but he knows they can't both leave the air. He has no desire to appear as a hero, but he wants so badly to be part of the force directly going in there and setting those prisoners go free. It's a painful choice, but he's made them before.

“Okay,” he relents. “Take Ooryl and Nrin with you.”

He gooses his engines, sets up for a strafing run on the crowd of guards, and sends up a prayer to the Force to be with his squadmates as they go in.

Long, long minutes pass. Tycho takes out as many of the guards as he can, then his stomach lurches at what he sees on his sensors: a dozen TIEs incoming. Things are about to get hairy for he and Inyri, the only members of the squadron still in the air over the prison.

Corran's voice pops back onto the comm channel, announcing that they have the prisoners, and Tycho feels a flush of relief, though he knows it's not going to mean much if they can't get them out. That's not going to happen right now with the approaching danger.

But then Wedge and One Flight are swooping in to back them up, having completed their part of the mission. Wedge heads off to go after ground targets and assigns the rest to help with the TIEs. Tycho finds himself grinning sharply. Five Rogues against a dozen Imperials – he almost feels bad for them.

Three TIEs are taken out immediately as the lines converge, and then the fourteen remaining shits leap into the complicated dance of battle. Tycho has just taken out two enemies in a row when Wedge's voice slashes across the comm with a shout that makes his gut clench in horror: “Concussion missiles incoming prison east!”

Tycho looks up and sees the missiles streaking toward the building, Wedge hot on their tail. An ion blast leaps from his Defender and sends one of the missiles spiraling to detonate harmlessly in the air – an excellent shot, Tycho observes distantly – but the other streaks in at the prison, exploding against the corner of the building.

He doesn't have time to watch the fallout as there's a shout from Inyri that he's got a TIE on his tail, and he moves to shake it – except that a moment later, it's gone. In fact, all of the few remaining TIEs seem to be running.

“Lead, do we pursue?” Inyri asks.

It takes several long moments before Wedge answers. “Negative, Six. This battle is finished. We've won.”

Tycho lets relief wash over him, bringing his Defender around to take a look at the ground. There's a gaping hole in the building, but there are people streaming out the front door as well, being greeting by what can only be a New Republic commando team. They've done it.

 

Minutes later, Tycho sets his ship down in front of the prison and climbs out, looking around at the freed prisoners. They're spread around the yard in small groups, talking amongst themselves or with the commandos. They all look skinny and strained, but not nearly as bad as the unfortunate souls he'd seen on Commenor.

Leaving his helmet onto the command couch, Tycho drops to the ground and approaches a group he recognizes: Wedge, Corran, and Jan Dodonna. Wedge is explaining how he'd discovered the location of Isard's clone and brought the building down around her, and Tycho can't help a relieved smile. One Isard down, for real this time.

Dodonna looks closely at Tycho as he joins them. “Tycho Celchu. If you're here, you must not be one of Isard's agents after all.”

Corran's face goes a little red. “Ah, I may have spoken too soon on that account, General. Tycho has more than proven himself to be a man completely loyal to the New Republic. He was every bit as determined to find you and the other prisoners as I was.”

“I'm glad to hear it.” Dodonna reaches out a hand, and his grip when Tycho takes it is reassuringly firm.

“It's good to see you again, Jan,” Tycho says, more comfortable using the name he once knew the man by. “I wouldn't have made it where I am today without your help back then.”

Dodonna smiles at him, eyes bright with genuine happiness. “We've all come a long way. Just a little farther, perhaps, and we'll be home.”

 

Perhaps a little farther than they had hoped. There's still the awful possibility that Isard has infected the prisoners with some sort of Krytos-like virus intended to spread through the New Republic population, so all of them, as well as the members of Rogue Squadron, are immediately shepherded over to the _Lusankya_ , docked for repairs at Bilbringi, for quarantine. Two straight weeks of medical tests and confinement.

It reminds Tycho too much of his time with NRI after the first time he left Lusankya, and the fact that the place they're being kept is that very same ship, in fact that same _deck_ that used to be the place where he once faced so much terror and pain...

Well, it grates on his nerves, to be sure. But he tells himself he'll be fine. And when Wedge looks at him with concern, he repeats the phrase aloud. He'll be fine. It's two weeks. He knows he'll be leaving at the end of that time if the medi-droids don't find anything. He'll be fine.

And it's not like there aren't distractions. Isard is dead, both of her now, thanks to Iella, and that's something to be celebrated. Wes is revealed to be alive, and Tycho has no problem admitting the happy tears he'd shed along with several of the other Rogues.

Yet here he stands, just days into the quarantine, the transparisteel partition in the lounge cool against his forehead as he peers out into space, misting before his harsh breaths. He can feel his heart beating fast, anxiety tightening his chest with one repeated line of thought: _I need to get out of here. I can't get out of here._

He knows intellectually that he's safe. He should be fine.

That doesn't keep him from being able to see the panic attack rushing at him headlong. He hasn't had one in years, not since long before the fateful mission to Coruscant, but it seems back with a vengeance now. He's tried his mantras, tried breathing deeply, and nothing seems to help. He's just going to have to ride it out.

He should at least leave the communal space before it hits him fully, he thinks. Face it somewhere in private, keep from upsetting the others.

Tycho startles badly when a hand lands on his arm.

“Sorry, sorry, didn't mean to scare you.”

The hand stays put, though, a solid point of contact, and Tycho tries to focus on it, use it to ground himself. He finally manages to shift his gaze to the side and sees it's Corran who's come up and is now peering at him in concern.

“Are you all right?” the Corellian asks.

Tycho manages a harsh little laugh, choked off through a windpipe that feels like it's closing up. “Not really.” He's still breathing too fast. He tries to swallow.

Corran's face creases. “Are you sick? Should I call a medi-droid?”

Tycho squeezes his eyes closed. He hadn't even thought about that. If anyone thinks he's coming down with something, it'll cause a panic. He manages to shake his head. “Not that...” A rough breath. “Panic attack. Being trapped here.”

“Oh.” Corran squeezes his arm, everything about him suddenly sympathetic. “Should I get Wedge?”

He probably has important things to do, Tycho knows. Reports to write, conversations with Ackbar and Cracken... But Tycho thinks about what he wants, and it's the man he loves by his side through this, so he nods and rasps, “Thank you.”

Corran disappears without another word, and Tycho leans against the transparisteel again, its chill a small comfort. The quiet conversations of pilots and former prisoners in the lounge bleed into one indistinct buzz, seeming to grow louder and louder. Tycho resists the urge to cover his ears.

Then he feels someone stepping into his space, and it takes a few moments to convince himself to move, but when he turns his head, there's Wedge, his familiar, beloved face a mask of gentle concern. Corran hasn't come back, and part of Tycho is grateful. As much as they've grown to be friends over the years, as much as he knows he understands, he doesn't want Corran to see him like this.

“Hey,” Wedge murmurs, reaching out slowly to brush gentle fingers against Tycho's cheek. “Tell me what you need.”

“Out of here,” Tycho answers, catching his hand and putting all his focus into squeezing it. “Our room.”

With no further questions, Wedge wraps his free arm around Tycho's waist and leads him away. Tycho leans into the contact, bracing himself, his entire world focused to that point, to the blood rushing in his ears and the air whistling through his nose and mouth but not seeming to quite reach his lungs.

“Wedge-” he whimpers once they've reached the hall, stumbling as his vision tunnels. Tycho knows he's going to get through this, that he'll be fine on the other side. He's lived through it before, but that doesn't make the experience any easier in the moment.

“It's all right,” Wedge promises, and though there's worry at the edges of his voice, he keeps it under control. “I've got you, Tycho. Almost there.”

Tycho clutches at him, nodding jerkily. Distantly, he hears a door slide open and closed, then a few more steps and Wedge is easing him down to sit on the edge of their bed. There are tears on Tycho's cheeks now as Wedge sits beside him and folds both his hands around one of his.

“Breathe,” Wedge murmurs. “Easy.”

Tycho tries, struggling against his own rebelling body. He tries not to focus on his racing heart and stinging eyes, instead to steady himself on Wedge's presence beside him, concerned but calm. So different from the first time Tycho went through this in front of him so many years ago. Wedge understands now; he helps without needing to be instructed or encouraged. He remembers exactly what to do.

The pressure on Tycho's hand increases for a moment, a brief squeeze to regain his attention. “Should we try colors?” Wedge asks.

Tycho swallows with difficulty and nods, peeling his eyes open so he can do the concentration exercise.

Wedge gives him a reassuring smile. “Okay. Tycho. Tell me something in the room that's red.”

“Your shirt.” Tycho's voice is rough.

“Good. And something blue?”

Tycho looks over Wedge's shoulder, gaze clearing somewhat as he focuses on his surroundings. His eyes fall on the hook beside the door. “My jacket.”

Wedge nods. “How about green?”

They go on like that for awhile, until Tycho's hands finally stop shaking and his breaths are even again. When he tells Wedge about the white walls, he doesn't ask another. Tycho takes his hand back and wipes the sticky remains of tears from his cheeks, taking a deep breath.

“I don't think I have to ask what brought that on,” Wedge says evenly.

“Probably not.” Tycho sighs, looking back over at him. “I wish I didn't have to be here.”

“I wish you didn't have to be here.” Wedge slides closer and puts an arm around his shoulders. “If you start to feel like this again, tell me, okay? Maybe we can fend it off next time.”

Tycho groans softly at the thought of facing another one of these incidents. He knows it's not entirely unlikely since he'll be stuck in this same spot another eleven days.

“I wish there was another way.” Wedge stands and helps Tycho up beside him before leaning in to pull back the blankets. “I'm sure you can use some rest after that. Do you want me to stay?”

Not even bothering to deny the exhaustion that always follows a panic attack, Tycho kicks off his boots and climbs into bed. “I'll be all right now. You have things to do.”

“Things that can wait if you need me more.”

Tycho settles into the mattress, pulling the blankets over himself. This bed is more comfortable than most shipboard quarters he's had the privilege of experiencing. He manages a little smile up at Wedge. “I'm all right, really. I'm sure I'll fall right asleep. Thank you, though. For being here.”

“I'm always here for you, love.” Wedge leans in, cups his cheek, and kisses him softly. “I need to go comm the Admiral, but I want you to call me if you need anything, all right?”

“I promise.”

Wedge spends another few moments fussing, tucking him in and making sure his comlink is within reach – care Tycho will admit to finding a great comfort. As soon as he's gone, Tycho closes his eyes, willing his frazzled body toward sleep as he pretends he's anywhere else but aboard this ship.

 

There are touch and go moments, but Tycho manages to make it through without another full-blown attack. It's all thanks to his friends, who seem to know how to help without even being asked. Whenever he starts to get antsy, Hobbie and Myn will pull him into a sabacc game or Corran will start asking questions about Luke and what he knows of the Jedi or Wedge will guide him away for more private comforts.

It's not easy, but he gets through. There's a party to mark their release at the end of the long two weeks, and though he's ready to celebrate being free, hanging around in that same lounge with food and dignitaries and music and military higher-ups isn't exactly Tycho's ideal way of doing it.

He stays as short a time as can be considered polite, shaking hands and receiving congratulations, and then he ducks away, wandering the quiet, empty halls of the colossal ship for a time before his feet bring him to the one place onboard that could ever be of any real comfort.

Wedge finds him half an hour or so later perched on the nose of his X-wing gazing out the magcon field at the shipyards and planet below. “I knew I'd find you here,” he says as he looks up at him.

“You know me,” Tycho murmurs.

“Are you all right?”

“Better.” Tycho slides to the floor and gives him a smile. “I feel like I can actually breathe out here.”

“I'll be happy when we can leave, for your sake.”

“I'm certainly not going to argue.”

For a few minutes they just stand there, staring out into space together, comfortable quiet between them.

“I keep having to remind myself it's really over,” Tycho says after awhile, quiet and solemn. “Isard is dead and the prison I knew no longer exists. I thought I would feel different.”

“What do you mean?”

Tycho huffs softly, not sure how to explain it. “These past two weeks have been hell,” he says honestly. “Even though I had nothing to be afraid of. I was safe and surrounded by friends the entire time, and yet I felt like I was about to lose it at any moment. Still not feeling great right at the moment, if I'm completely honest.”

Wedge takes his hand. “You've always told me it's a process. What you went through here and what that did to you won't ever go away.” There's a quiet frustration there, as if Wedge wishes he could take those things away for him; most of the time, Tycho wishes he could, too.

“I know.” Tycho sighs. “I just hate it, you know? I wish I could tell myself 'hey, that's all over, and it's not coming back, so there's no reason to feel like this' and have my brain actually believe it.”

“We'll be out of here tomorrow. That will help, right?”

“Yes. I know the New Republic only has so many ships, but if I can help it, I'm never setting foot on this one again.”

Wedge smiles. “We'll see how that goes.”

At that moment, there's the sound of faint music in the distance, echoing down the corridors of the ship. Tycho makes a face, amused. “How loud are they even playing that that we can hear it all the way down here?”

“Loud,” Wedge confirms, and his smile softens as he moves closer to Tycho. “I seem to recall that last time we danced, we were interrupted.”

Tycho pushes aside the bloody vision of Urlor Sette the words draw to mind; he knows what Wedge really means. “We're alone here.”

“Perhaps we should take advantage.”

Tycho smiles too as he steps into Wedge's embrace. This is easy. Just the two of them, arms around each other, as natural as anything, swaying slowly to the distant melody. His heart still beats a little too fast as he rests his head on his partner's shoulder, his limbs a little stiff, but he can manage.

Being with Wedge doesn't make everything else go away, but it helps.


End file.
